\\\c  SHcot orient 

PRINCETON,  N.  J. 


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STRAY  LEAVES  IN  STRANGE  LITERATURE. 
i6mo,  $1.50. 

GLIMPSES  OF  UNFAMILIAR  JAPAN.  2 vols. 
crown  8vo,  gilt  top,  $4.00. 

OUT  OF  THE  EAST.  Reveries  and  Studies  in 
New  Japan.  i6mo,  gilt  top,  $1.25. 

KOKORO  : Hints  and  Echoes  of  Japanese  Inner 
Life.  i6mo,  gilt  top,  $1.25. 

GLEANINGS  FROM  BUDDHA- FIELDS  : 
Studies  of  Hand  and  Soul  in  the  Far  East. 
i6mo,  gilt  top,  $1.25. 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  & CO. 

Boston  and  New  York. 


Gleanings  in  Buddha-Fields 

STUDIES  OF  HAND  AND  SOUL 
IN  THE  FAR  EAST 


LAFCADIO  HEARN 

LECTURER  ON  ENGLISH  LITERATURE  IN  THE 
IMPERIAL  UNIVERSITY  OF  JAPAN 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 
®be  ffhtiersi&e  pres?,  £ambnbge 
1900 


COPYRIGHT  1897  BY 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  CO. 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I.  A Living  God 1 

II.  Out  of  the  Street 29 

III.  Notes  of  a Trip  to  Kyoto  . . 

IV.  Dust 

V.  About  Faces  in  Japanese  Art 97 

VI.  Ningyo-no-Haka 124 

VII.  In  Osaka 132 

VIII.  Buddhist  Allusions  in  Japanese  Folk- 

Song  185 

IX.  Nirvana 211 

X.  The  Rebirth  of  Katsugoro 267 

XI.  Within  the  Circle 291 


£ & 


GLEANINGS  IN  B UDDH A-FIELDS 


I 

A LIVING  GOD 
I 

Of  whatever  dimension,  the  temples  or 
shrines  of  pure  Shinto  are  all  built  in  the 
same  archaic  style.  The  typical  shrine  is  a 
windowless  oblong  building  of  unpainted  tim- 
ber, with  a very  steep  overhanging  roof ; the 
front  is  the  gable  end  ; and  the  upper  part  of 
the  perpetually  closed  doors  is  wooden  lattice- 
work,  — usually  a grating  of  bars  closely  set 
and  crossing  each  other  at  right  angles.  In 
most  cases  the  structure  is  raised  slightly 
above  the  ground  on  wooden  pillars  ; and  the 
queer  peaked  facade,  with  its  visor-like  aper- 
tures and  the  fantastic  projections  of  beam- 
work  above  its  gable-angle,  might  remind  the 
Em’opean  traveler  of  certain  old  Gothic  forms 
of  dormer.  There  is  no  artificial  color.  The 


2 


A LIVING  GOD 


plain  wood  1 soon  turns,  under  the  action  of 
rain  and  sun,  to  a natural  grey,  varying  ac- 
cording to  surface  exposure  from  the  silvery 
tone  of  birch  bark  to  the  sombre  grey  of 
basalt.  So  shaped  and  so  tinted,  the  isolated 
country  yashiro  may  seem  less  like  a work  of 
joinery  than  a feature  of  the  scenery,  — a 
rural  form  related  to  nature  as  closely  as 
rocks  and  trees,  — a something  that  came 
into  existence  only  as  a manifestation  of 
Ohotsuchi-no-Kami,  the  Earth-god,  the  pri- 
meval divinity  of  the  land. 

Why  certain  architectural  forms  produce 
in  the  beholder  a feeling  of  weirdness  is  a 
question  about  which  I should  like  to  theorize 
some  day  : at  present  I shall  venture  only  to 
say  that  Shinto  shrines  evoke  such  a feeling. 
It  grows  with  familiarity  instead  of  weaken- 
ing ; and  a knowledge  of  popular  beliefs  is 
apt  to  intensify  it.  We  have  no  English 
words  by  which  these  queer  shapes  can  be 
sufficiently  described,  — much  less  any  lan- 
guage able  to  communicate  the  peculiar  im- 
pression which  they  make.  Those  Shinto 
terms  which  we  loosely  render  by  the  words 
“ temple  ” and  “ shrine  ” are  really  untrans- 
1 Usually  hinoki  (ChamcEcyparis  obtusa). 


A LIVING  GOD 


3 


latable ; — I mean  that  the  Japanese  ideas 
attaching  to  them  cannot  be  conveyed  by 
translation.  The  so-called  “ august  house  ” 
of  the  Kami  is  not  so  much  a temple,  in 
the  classic  meaning  of  the  term,  as  it  is  a 
haunted  room,  a spirit-chamber,  a ghost- 
house  ; many  of  the  lesser  divinities  being 
veritably  ghosts,  — ghosts  of  great  warriors 
and  heroes  and  riders  and  teachers,  who  lived 
and  loved  and  died  hundreds  or  thousands  of 
years  ago.  I fancy  that  to  the  Western  mind 
the  word  “ ghost-house  ” will  convey,  better 
than  such  terms  as  “shrine”  and  “temple,” 
some  vague  notion  of  the  strange  character  of 
the  Shinto  miya  or  yashiro , — containing  in 
its  perpetual  dusk  nothing  more  substantial 
than  symbols  or  tokens,  the  latter  probably  of 
paper.  Now  the  emptiness  behind  the  visored 
front  is  more  suggestive  than  anything  mate- 
rial could  possibly  be  ; and  when  you  remem- 
ber that  millions  of  people  during  thousands 
of  years  have  worshiped  their  great  dead  be- 
fore such  yashiro , — that  a whole  race  still 
believes  those  buildings  tenanted  by  viewless 
conscious  personalities,  — you  are  apt  also  to 
reflect  how  difficult  it  would  be  to  prove  the 


4 


A LIVING  GOD 


faith  absurd.  Nay ! in  spite  of  Occidental 
reluctances,  — in  spite  of  whatever  you  may 
think  it  expedient  to  say  or  not  to  say  at  a 
later  time  about  the  experience,  — you  may 
very  likely  find  yourself  for  a moment  forced 
into  the  attitude  of  respect  toward  possibili- 
ties. Mere  cold  reasoning  will  not  help  you 
far  in  the  opposite  direction.  The  evidence 
of  the  senses  counts  for  little  : you  know  there 
are  ever  so  many  realities  which  can  neither 
be  seen  nor  heard  nor  felt,  but  wdiich  exist  as 
forces,  — tremendous  forces.  Then  again  you 
cannot  mock  the  conviction  of  forty  millions 
of  people  while  that  conviction  thrills  all 
about  you  like  the  air,  — while  conscious  that 
it  is  pressing  upon  your  psychical  being  just 
as  the  atmosphere  presses  upon  your  physical 
being.  As  for  myself,  whenever  I am  alone 
in  the  presence  of  a Shinto  shrine,  I have  the 
sensation  of  being  haunted ; and  I cannot 
help  thinking  about  the  possible  apperceptions 
of  the  haunter.  And  this  tempts  me  to  fancy 
how  I should  feel  if  I myself  were  a god,  — 
dwelling  in  some  old  Izumo  shrine  on  the 
summit  of  a hill,  guarded  by  stone  lions  and 
shadowed  by  a holy  grove. 


A LIVING  GOD 


5 


Elfishly  small  my  habitation  might  be,  but 
never  too  small,  because  I should  have  neither 
size  nor  form.  I should  be  only  a vibration, 
— a motion  invisible  as  of  ether  or  of  mag- 
netism ; though  able  sometimes  to  shape  me 
a shadow-body,  in  the  likeness  of  my  former 
visible  self,  when  I should  wish  to  make  ap- 
parition. 

As  air  to  the  bird,  as  water  to  the  fish,  so 
would  all  substance  be  permeable  to  the  es- 
sence of  me.  I shoidd  pass  at  will  through 
the  walls  of  my  dwelling  to  swim  in  the  long 
gold  bath  of  a sunbeam,  to  thrill  in  the  heart 
of  a flower,  to  ride  on  the  neck  of  a dragon- 
fly- 

Power  above  life  and  power  over  death 
would  be  mine,  — and  the  power  of  self-exten- 
sion,  and  the  power  of  self-multiplication,  and 
the  power  of  being  in  all  places  at  one  and 
the  same  moment.  Simultaneously  in  a hun- 
dred homes  I should  hear  myself  worshiped, 
I should  inhale  the  vapor  of  a hundred  offer- 
ings : each  evening,  from  my  place  within  a 
hundred  household  shrines,  I shoidd  see  the 
holy  lights  lighted  for  me  in  lamplets  of  red 
clay,  in  lamplets  of  brass,  — the  lights  of  the 


6 


A LIVING  GOD 


Kami,  kindled  with  purest  fire  and  fed  with 
purest  oil. 

But  in  my  yashiro  upon  the  hill  I should 
have  greatest  honor : there  betimes  I should 
gather  the  multitude  of  my  selves  together  ; 
there  should  I unify  my  powers  to  answer 
supplication. 

From  the  dusk  of  my  ghost-house  I should 
look  for  the  coming  of  sandaled  feet,  and 
watch  brown  supple  fingers  weaving  to  my 
bars  the  knotted  papers  which  are  records  of 
vows,  and  observe  the  motion  of  the  lips  of 
my  worshipers  making  prayer  : — 

— “ Harai-tamai  kiyome-tamae  ! ...  We 
have  beaten  drums,  we  have  lighted  fires  ; yet 
the  land  thirsts  and  the  rice  fails.  Deign  out 
of  thy  divine  pity  to  give  us  rain,  O Daimyo- 


— “ Harai  - tamai  Iciyome  -tamae  f ...  I 
am  dark,  too  dark,  because  I have  toiled  in 
the  field,  because  the  sun  hath  looked  upon 
me.  Deign  thou  augustly  to  make  me  white, 
very  white,  — white  like  the  women  of  the 
city,  O Daimyojin  ! ” 


A LIVING  GOD 


7 

— “ ITarai-tamai  Idyome-tamae ! . . . For 
Tsukamoto  Motokichi  our  son,  a soldier  of 
twenty-nine  : that  lie  may  conquer  and  come 
back  quickly  to  us,  — soon,  very  soon,  — we 
bumbly  supplicate,  O Daimyojin  ! ” 

Sometimes  a girl  would  whisper  all  her 
heart  to  me : “ Maiden  of  eighteen  years,  I 
am  loved  by  a youth  of  twenty.  He  is  good  ; 
he  is  true ; but  poverty  is  with  us,  and  the 
path  of  our  love  is  dark.  Aid  us  with  thy 
great  divine  pity  ! — help  us  that  we  may  be- 
come united,  O Daimyojin ! ” Then  to  the 
bars  of  my  shrine  she  would  hang  a thick  soft 
tress  of  hair,  — her  own  hair,  glossy  and 
black  as  the  wing  of  the  crow,  and  bound 
with  a cord  of  mulberry-paper.  And  in  the 
fragrance  of  that  offering,  — the  simple  fra- 
grance of  her  peasant  youth,  — I,  the  ghost 
and  god,  should  find  again  the  feelings  of  the 
years  when  I was  man  and  lover. 

Mothers  would  bring  their  children  to  my 
threshold,  and  teach  them  to  revere  me,  say- 
ing, “ Bow  down  before  the  great  bright  God ; 
make  homage  to  the  Daimyojin.”  Then  I 
should  hear  the  fresh  soft  clapping  of  little 


8 


A LIVING  GOD 


hands,  and  remember  that  I,  the  ghost  and 
god,  had  been  a father. 

Daily  I should  hear  the  plash  of  pure  cool 
water  poured  out  for  me,  and  the  tinkle  of 
thrown  coin,  and  the  pattering  of  dry  rice  into 
my  wooden  box,  like  a pattering  of  rain  ; and 
I should  be  refreshed  by  the  spirit  of  the 
water,  and  strengthened  by  the  spirit  of  the 
rice. 

Festivals  would  be  held  to  honor  me. 
Priests,  black  - coiffed  and  linen  - vestured, 
would  bring  me  offerings  of  fruits  and  fish 
and  seaweed  and  rice-cakes  and  rice-wine,  — 
masking  their  faces  with  sheets  of  white 
paper,  so  as  not  to  breathe  upon  my  food. 
And  the  miko  their  daughters,  fair  girls  in 
crimson  hahama  and  robes  of  snowy  white, 
would  come  to  dance  with  tinkling  of  little 
bells,  with  waving  of  silken  fans,  that  I might 
be  gladdened  by  the  bloom  of  tlieir  youth, 
that  I might  delight  in  the  charm  of  their 
grace.  And  there  would  be  music  of  many 
thousand  years  ago,  — weird  music  of  drums 
and  flutes,  — and  songs  in  a tongue  no  longer 
spoken  ; while  the  miko,  the  darlings  of  the 
gods,  would  poise  and  pose  before  me  : — 


A LIVING  GOD 


9 


. . . “ Whose  virgins  are  these , — the  vir- 
gins who  stand  like  flowers  before  the  Deity  f 
They  are  the  virgins  of  the  august  Deity. 

“ The  august  music , the  dancing  of  the 
virgins , — the  Deity  will  be  pleased  to  hear , 
the  Deity  will  rejoice  to  see. 

“ Before  the  great  bright  God  the  virgins 
dance , — the  virgins  all  like  flowers  newly 
opened . . . 

Votive  gifts  of  many  kinds  I should  be 
given  : painted  paper  lanterns  bearing  my 
sacred  name,  and  towels  of  divers  colors 
printed  with  the  number  of  the  years  of  the 
giver,  and  pictures  commemorating  the  fulfill- 
ment of  prayers  for  the  healing  of  sickness, 
the  saving  of  ships,  the  quenching  of  fire,  the 
birth  of  sons. 

Also  my  Karashishi,  my  guai’dian  lions, 
would  be  honored.  I should  see  my  pilgrims 
tying  sandals  of  straw  to  their  necks  and  to 
their  paws,  with  prayer  to  the  Karashishi- 
Sama  for  strength  of  foot. 

I should  see  fine  moss,  like  emerald  fur, 
growing  slowly,  slowly,  upon  the  backs  of 
those  lions ; — I should  see  the  sprouting  of 


10 


A LIVING  GOD 


lichens  upon  their  flunks  and  upon  their 
shoulders,  in  specklings  of  dead  - silver,  in 
patches  of  dead  - gold  ; — I should  watch, 
through  years  of  generations,  the  gradual 
sideward  sinking  of  their  pedestals  under- 
mined by  frost  and  rain,  until  at  last  my  lions 
would  lose  their  balance,  and  fall,  and  break 
their  mossy  heads  off.  After  which  the  peo- 
ple would  give  me  new  lions  of  another  form, 
— lions  of  granite  or  of  bronze,  with  gilded 
teeth  and  gilded  eyes,  and  tails  like  a torment 
of  fire. 

Between  the  trunks  of  the  cedars  and  pines, 
between  the  jointed  columns  of  the  bamboos, 
I should  observe,  season  after  season,  the 
changes  of  the  colors  of  the  valley  : the  fall- 
ing of  the  snow  of  winter  and  the  falling  of 
the  snow  of  cherry-flowers ; the  lilac  spread 
of  the  miyakobana  ; the  blazing  yellow  of  the 
natane  ; the  sky  - blue  mirrored  in  flooded 
levels,  — levels  dotted  with  the  moon-shaped 
hats  of  the  toiling  people  who  would  love  me  ; 
and  at  last  the  pure  and  tender  green  of  the 
growing  rice. 

The  7/m/dw-birds  and  the  uguisu  would  fill 
the  shadows  of  my  grove  with  ripplings  and 


A LIVING  GOD 


11 


purlings  of  melody  ; — the  bell-insects,  the 
crickets,  and  the  seven  marvelous  cicadse  of 
summer  would  make  all  the  wood  of  my  ghost- 
house  thrill  to  their  musical  storms.  Betimes 
I should  enter,  like  an  ecstasy,  into  the  tiny 
lives  of  them,  to  quicken  the  joy  of  their 
clamor,  to  magnify  the  sonority  of  their  song. 

But  I never  can  become  a god,  — for  this 
is  the  nineteenth  century  ; and  nobody  can  be 
really  aware  of  the  nature  of  the  sensations  of 
a god  — unless  there  be  gods  in  the  flesh.  Are 
there  ? Perhaps  — in  very  remote  districts  — 
one  or  two.  There  used  to  be  living  gods. 

Anciently  any  man  who  did  something  ex- 
traordinarily great  or  good  or  wise  or  brave 
might  be  declared  a god  after  his  death,  no 
matter  how  humble  his  condition  in  life. 
Also  good  people  who  had  suffered  great 
cruelty  and  injustice  might  be  apotheosized  ; 
and  there  still  survives  the  popular  inclination 
to  pay  posthumous  honor  and  to  make  prayer 
to  the  spirits  of  those  who  die  voluntary 
deaths  under  particular  circumstances,  — to 
souls  of  unhappy  lovers,  for  example.  (Prob- 
ably the  old  customs  which  made  this  ten- 


12 


A LIVING  GOD 


dency  liad  their  origin  in  the  wish  to  appease 
the  vexed  spirit,  although  to-day  the  experi- 
ence of  great  suffering  seems  to  be  thought 
of  as  qualifying  its  possessor  for  divine  condi- 
tions of  being  ; — and  there  would  be  no  fool- 
ishness whatever  in  such  a thought.)  But 
there  were  even  more  remarkable  deifications. 
Certain  persons,  while  still  alive,  were  hon- 
ored by  having  temples  built  for  their  spirits, 
and  were  treated  as  gods ; not,  indeed,  as 
national  gods,  but  as  lesser  divinities,  — tute- 
lar deities,  perhaps,  or  village-gods.  There 
was,  for  instance,  Hamaguclii  Gohei,  a farmer 
of  the  district  of  Arita  in  the  province  of 
Kishu,  who  was  made  a god  before  he  died. 
And  I think  he  deserved  it. 

ii 

Before  telling  the  story  of  Hamaguchi 
Gohei,  I must  say  a few  w'ords  about  certain 
laws  — or,  more  correctly  speaking,  customs 
having  all  the  force  of  laws  — by  which  many 
village  communities  were  ruled  in  pre-Meiji 
times.  These  customs  wrere  based  upon  the 
social  experience  of  ages ; and  though  they 
differed  in  minor  details  according  to  province 


A LIVING  GOD 


13 


or  district,  tlieir  main  signification  was  every- 
where about  the  same.  Some  were  ethical, 
some  industrial,  some  religious ; and  all  mat- 
tery were  regulated  by  them,  — even  individ- 
ual behavior.  They  preserved  peace,  and 
they  compelled  mutual  help  and  mutual  kind- 
ness. Sometimes  there  might  be  serious  fight- 
ing between  different  villages,  — little  peasant 
wars  about  questions  of  water  supply  or 
boundaries ; but  quarreling  between  men  of 
the  same  commimity  could  not  be  tolerated  in 
an  age  of  vendetta,  and  the  whole  village 
would  resent  any  needless  disturbance  of  the 
internal  peace.  To  some  degree  this  state  of 
things  still  exists  in  the  more  old-fashioned 
provinces : the  people  know  how  to  live  with- 
out quarreling,  not  to  say  fighting.  Any- 
where, as  a general  ride,  Japanese  fight  only 
to  kill ; and  when  a sober  man  goes  so  far  as 
to  strike  a blow,  he  virtually  rejects  communal 
protection,  and  takes  his  life  into  his  own 
hands  with  every  probability  of  losing  it. 

The  private  conduct  of  the  other  sex  was 
regulated  by  some  remarkable  obligations 
entirely  outside  of  written  codes.  A peasant 
girl,  before  marriage,  enjoyed  far  more  liberty 


14 


A LIVING  GOD 


than  was  permitted  to  city  girls.  She  might 
be  known  to  have  a lover;  and  unless  her 
parents  objected  very  strongly,  no  blame 
would  be  given  to  her : it  was  regarded  as  an 
honest  union,  — honest,  at  least,  as  to  inten- 
tion. But  having  once  made  a choice,  the 
girl  was  held  bound  by  that  choice.  If  it 
were  discovered  that  she  met  another  admirer 
secretly,  the  people  would  strip  her  naked, 
allowing  her  only  a s7mro-leaf  for  apron,  and 
drive  her  in  mockery  through  every  street  and 
alley  of  the  village.  During  this  public  dis- 
grace of  their  daughter,  the  parents  of  the 
girl  dared  not  show  their  faces  abroad  ; they 
were  expected  to  share  her  shame,  and  they 
had  to  remain  in  their  house,  with  all  the 
shutters  fastened  up.  Afterward  the  girl 
was  sentenced  to  banishment  for  five  years. 
But  at  the  end  of  that  period  she  was  consid- 
ered to  have  expiated  her  fault,  and  she  could 
return  home  with  the  certainty  of  being  spared 
further  reproaches. 

The  obligation  of  mutual  help  in  time  of 
calamity  or  danger  was  the  most  imperative 
of  all  communal  obligations.  In  case  of  fire, 
especially,  everybody  was  required  to  give 


A LIVING  GOD 


15 


immediate  aid  to  the  best  of  his  or  her  ability. 
Even  children  were  not  exempted  from  this 
duty.  In  towns  and  cities,  of  course,  things 
were  differently  ordered ; hut  in  any  little 
country  village  the  universal  duty  was  very 
plain  and  simple,  and  its  neglect  would  have 
been  considered  unpardonable. 

A curious  fact  is  that  this  obligation  of 
mutual  help  extended  to  religious  matters : 
everybody  was  expected  to  invoke  the  help  of 
the  gods  for  the  sick  or  the  unfortunate,  when- 
ever asked  to  do  so.  For  example,  the  village 
might  be  ordered  to  make  a sendo-mairi 1 
on  behalf  of  some  one  seriously  ill.  On  such 
occasions  the  Kumi-cho  (each  Kumi-cho  was 
responsible  for  the  conduct  of  five  or  more 
families)  would  rim  from  house  to  house  cry- 
ing, “ Such  and  such  a one  is  very  sick : 


1 To  perform  a sendo-mairi  means  to  make  one  thou- 
sand visits  to  a temple,  and  to  repeat  one  thousand  invoca- 
tions to  the  deity.  But  it  is  considered  necessary  only  to 
go  from  the  gate  or  the  torii  of  the  temple-court  to  the 
place  of  prayer,  and  back,  one  thousand  times,  repeating  the 
invocation  each  time  ; and  the  task  may  be  divided  among 
any  number  of  persons,  — ten  visits  by  one  hundred  persons, 
for  instance,  being  quite  as  efficacious  as  a thousand  visits 
by  a single  person. 


16 


A LIVING  GOD 


kindly  hasten  all  to  make  a senclo-mairi ! ” 
Thereupon,  however  occupied  at  the  moment, 
every  soul  in  the  settlement  was  expected  to 
hurry  to  the  temple,  — taking  care  not  to  trip 
or  stumble  on  the  way,  as  a single  misstep 
during  the  performance  of  a sendo-mairi  was 
believed  to  mean  misfortune  for  the  sick.  . . . 

in 

Now  concerning  Hamaguchi. 

From  immemorial  time  the  shores  of  Japan 
have  been  swept,  at  irregular  intervals  of  cen- 
turies, by  enormous  tidal  waves,  — tidal  waves 
caused  by  earthquakes  or  by  submarine  vol- 
canic action.  These  awful  sudden  risings  of 
the  sea  are  called  by  the  Japanese  tsunami. 
The  last  one  occurred  on  the  evening  of  June 
17,  1896,  when  a wave  nearly  two  hundred 
miles  long  struck  the  northeastern  provinces 
of  Miyagi,  Iwate,  and  Aomori,  wrecking  scores 
of  towns  and  villages,  ruining  whole  districts, 
and  destroying  nearly  thirty  thousand  human 
lives.  The  story  of  Hamaguchi  Gohei  is  the 
story  of  a like  calamity  which  happened  long 
before  the  era  of  Meiji,  on  another  part  of  the 
Japanese  coast. 


A LIVING  GOD 


17 


He  was  an  old  man  at  the  time  of  the  occur- 
rence that  made  him  famous.  He  was  the 
most  influential  resident  of  the  village  to  which 
he  belonged : he  had  been  for  many  years  its 
muraosa,  or  headman  ; and  he  was  not  less 
liked  than  respected.  The  people  usually 
called  him  Ojiisan , which  means  Grandfather ; 
but,  being  the  richest  member  of  the  commu- 
nity, he  was  sometimes  officially  referred  to  as 
the  Choja.  He  used  to  advise  the  smaller 
farmers  about  their  interests,  to  arbitrate  their 
disputes,  to  advance  them  money  at  need,  and 
to  dispose  of  their  rice  for  them  on  the  best 
terms  possible. 

Hamaguchi’s  big  thatched  farmhouse  stood 
at  the  verge  of  a small  plateau  overlooking  a 
bay.  The  plateau,  mostly  devoted  to  rice  cul- 
ture, was  hemmed  in  on  three  sides  by  thickly 
wooded  summits.  From  its  outer  verge  the 
land  sloped  down  in  a huge  green  concavity, 
as  if  scooped  out,  to  the  edge  of  the  water ; 
and  the  whole  of  this  slope,  some  three  quar- 
ters of  a mile  long,  was  so  terraced  as  to  look, 
when  viewed  from  the  open  sea,  like  an  enor- 
mous flight  of  green  steps,  divided  in  the 
centre  by  a narrow  white  zigzag,  — a streak 


18 


A LIVING  GOD 


of  mountain  road.  Ninety  tliatcked  dwellings 
and  a Shinto  temple,  composing  the  village 
proper,  stood  along  the  curve  of  the  bay;  and 
other  houses  climbed  straggling  up  the  slope 
for  some  distance  on  either  side  of  the  nar- 
row road  leading  to  the  Choja’s  home. 

One  autumn  evening  Hamaguchi  Gohei  was 
looking  down  from  the  balcony  of  his  house  at 
some  preparations  for  a merry-making  in  the 
village  below.  There  had  been  a very  fine 
rice-crop,  and  the  peasants  were  going  to  cele- 
brate their  harvest  by  a dance  in  the  court  of 
the  ujigami}  The  old  man  could  see  the  fes- 
tival banners  ( nobori ) fluttering  above  the 
roofs  of  the  solitary  street,  the  strings  of  paper 
lanterns  festooned  between  bamboo  poles,  the 
decorations  of  the  shrine,  and  the  brightly 
colored  gathering  of  the  young  people.  He 
had  nobody  with  him  that  evening  but  his 
little  grandson,  a lad  of  ten ; the  rest  of  the 
household  having  gone  early  to  the  village. 
He  would  have  accompanied  them  had  he  not 
been  feeling  less  strong  than  usual. 

The  day  had  been  oppressive ; and  in  spite 
of  a rising  breeze  there  was  still  in  the  air 


1 Shinto  parish  temple. 


A LIVING  GOD 


19 


that  sort  of  heavy  heat  which,  according  to  the 
experience  of  the  Japanese  peasant,  at  certain 
seasons  precedes  an  earthquake.  And  pres- 
ently an  earthquake  came.  It  was  not  strong 
enough  to  frighten  anybody ; but  Hamagucki, 
who  had  felt  hundreds  of  shocks  in  his  time, 
thought  it  was  queer,  — a long,  slow,  spongy 
motion.  Probably  it  was  but  the  after-tremor 
of  some  immense  seismic  action  very  far  away. 
The  house  crackled  and  rocked  gently  several 
times  ; then  all  became  still  again. 

As  the  quaking  ceased  Hamaguchi’s  keen  old 
eyes  were  anxiously  turned  toward  the  village. 
It  often  happens  that  the  attention  of  a person 
gazing  fixedly  at  a particular  spot  or  object  is 
suddenly  diverted  by  the  sense  of  something 
not  knowingly  seen  at  all,  — bv  a mere  vague 
feeling  of  the  unfamiliar  in  that  dim  outer 
circle  of  unconscious  perception  which  lies  be- 
yond the  field  of  clear  vision.  Thus  it  chanced 
that  Hamaeuchi  became  aware  of  something: 
unusual  in  the  offing.  He  rose  to  his  feet, 
and  looked  at  the  sea.  It  had  darkened 
quite  suddenly,  and  it  was  acting  strangely. 
It  seemed  to  be  moving  against  the  wind.  It 
was  running  away  from  the  land. 


20 


A LIVING  GOD 


Within  a very  little  time  the  whole  village 
had  noticed  the  phenomenon.  Apparently  no 
one  had  felt  the  previous  motion  of  the  ground, 
hut  all  were  evidently  astounded  by  the  move- 
ment of  the  water.  They  were  running  to  the 
beach,  and  even  beyond  the  beach,  to  watch  it. 
No  such  ebb  had  been  witnessed  on  that  coast 
within  the  memory  of  living  man.  Things 
never  seen  before  were  making  apparition ; 
unfamiliar  spaces  of  ribbed  sand  and  reaches 
of  weed-hung  rock  were  left  bare  even  as 
Hamagucki  gazed.  And  none  of  the  people 
below  appeared  to  guess  what  that  monstrous 
ebb  signified. 

Hamaguchi  Gohei  himself  had  never  seen 
such  a thing  before ; but  he  remembered 
things  told  him  in  his  childhood  by  his  father’s 
father,  and  he  knew  all  the  traditions  of  the 
coast.  He  understood  what  the  sea  was  going 
to  do.  Perhaps  he  thought  of  the  time  needed 
to  send  a message  to  the  village,  or  to  get  the 
priests  of  the  Buddhist  temple  on  the  hill  to 
sound  their  big  bell.  . . . But  it  would  take 
very  much  longer  to  tell  what  he  might  have 
thought  than  it  took  him  to  think.  He  sim- 
ply  called  to  his  grandson : — 


A LIVING  GOD  21 

“ Tacla ! — quick,  — very  quick ! . . . Light 
me  a torch.” 

Taimatsu,  or  pine-torches,  are  kept  in  many 
coast  dwellings  for  use  on  stormy  nights,  and 
also  for  use  at  certain  Shinto  festivals.  The 
child  kindled  a torch  at  once  ; and  the  old  man 
hurried  with  it  to  the  fields,  where  hundreds 
of  rice-stacks,  representing  most  of  his  invested 
capital,  stood  awaiting  transportation.  Ap- 
proaching those  nearest  the  verge  of  the  slope, 
he  began  to  apply  the  torch  to  them,  — hurry- 
ing from  one  to  another  as  quickly  as  his  aged 
limbs  could  carry  him.  The  sun-dried  stalks 
caught  like  tinder ; the  strengthening  sea- 
breeze  blew  the  blaze  landward ; and  presently, 
rank  behind  rank,  the  stacks  burst  into  flame, 
sending  skyward  columns  of  smoke  that  met 
and  mingled  into  one  enormous  cloudy  whirl. 
Tada,  astonished  and  terrified,  ran  after  his 
grandfather,  crying,  — 

“ Ojiisan  ! why  ? Ojiisan  ! why  ? — why  ? ” 
But  Hamaguchi  did  not  answer : he  had 
no  time  to  explain ; he  was  thinking  only  of 
the  four  hundred  lives  in  peril.  For  a while 
the  child  stared  wildly  at  the  blazing  rice ; 
then  burst  into  tears,  and  ran  back  to  the 


22 


A LIVING  GOD 


house,  feeling  sure  that  his  grandfather  had 
gone  mad.  Hamaguchi  went  on  firing  stack 
after  stack,  till  he  had  reached  the  limit  of 
his  field ; then  he  threw  down  his  torch,  and 
waited.  The  acolyte  of  the  hill-temple,  ob- 
serving the  blaze,  set  the  big  bell  booming ; 
and  the  people  responded  to  the  double  ap- 
peal. Hamaguchi  watched  them  hurrying  in 
from  the  sands  and  over  the  beach  and  up 
from  the  village,  like  a swarming  of  ants,  and, 
to  his  anxious  eyes,  scarcely  faster  ; for  the 
moments  seemed  terribly  long  to  him.  The 
sun  was  going  down  ; the  wrinkled  bed  of  the 
bay,  and  a vast  sallow  speckled  expanse  be- 
yond it,  lay  naked  to  the  last  orange  glow ; 
and  still  the  sea  was  fleeing  toward  the  hori- 
zon. 

Really,  however,  Hamaguchi  did  not  have 
very  long  to  wait  before  the  first  party  of  suc- 
cor arrived,  — a score  of  agile  young  peas- 
ants, who  wanted  to  attack  the  fire  at  once. 
But  the  Choja,  holding  out  both  arms,  stopped 
them. 

“ Let  it  burn,  lads  ! ” he  commanded,  — 
“ let  it  be ! I want  the  whole  mura  here. 
There  is  a great  danger,  — taihen  da  1 ” 


A LIVING  GOD 


23 


The  whole  village  was  coming  ; and  Ilama- 
guchi  counted.  All  the  young  men  and  hoys 
were  soon  on  the  spot,  and  not  a few  of  the 
more  active  women  and  girls ; then  came 
most  of  the  older  folk,  and  mothers  with 
babies  at  their  backs,  and  even  children,  — 
for  children  could  help  to  pass  water  ; and 
the  elders  too  feeble  to  keep  up  with  the  first 
rush  could  be  seen  well  on  their  way  up  the 
steep  ascent.  The  growing  multitude,  still 
knowing  nothing,  looked  alternately,  in  sor- 
rowful wonder,  at  the  flaming  fields  and  at 
the  impassive  face  of  their  Choja.  And  the 
sun  went  down. 

“ Grandfather  is  mad,  — I am  afraid  of 
him  ! ” sobbed  Tada,  in  answer  to  a number 
of  questions.  “ He  is  mad.  He  set  fire  to 
the  rice  on  purpose  : I saw  him  do  it ! ” 

“ As  for  the  rice,”  cried  Hamaguchi,  “ the 
child  tells  the  truth.  I set  fire  to  the  rice. 
. . . Are  all  the  people  here  ? ” 

The  Kumi-cho  and  the  heads  of  families 
looked  about  them,  and  down  the  hill,  and 
made  reply  : “ All  are  here,  or  very  soon  will 
be.  ...  We  cannot  understand  this  thing.” 

“ Kita  ! ” shouted  the  old  man  at  the  top 


24 


A LIVING  GOD 


of  his  voice,  pointing  to  the  open.  “ Say  now 
if  I he  mad  ! ” 

Through  the  twilight  eastward  all  looked, 
and  saw  at  the  edge  of  the  dusky  horizon  a 
long,  lean,  dim  line  like  the  shadowing  of  a 
coast  where  no  coast  ever  was,  — a line  that 
thickened  as  they  gazed,  that  broadened  as  a 
coast-line  broadens  to  the  eyes  of  one  ap- 
proaching it,  yet  incomparably  more  quickly. 
For  that  long  darkness  was  the  returning  sea, 
towering  like  a cliff,  and  coursing  more  swiftly 
than  the  kite  flies. 

“ Tsunami  ! ” shrieked  the  people  ; and 
then  all  shrieks  and  all  sounds  and  all  power 
to  hear  sounds  were  annihilated  by  a nameless 
shock  heavier  than  any  thunder,  as  the  colos- 
sal swell  smote  the  shore  with  a weight  that 
sent  a shudder  through  the  hills,  and  with  a 
foam-burst  like  a blaze  of  slieet-liglitning. 
Then  for  an  instant  nothing  was  visible  but 
a storm  of  spray  rushing  up  the  slope  like  a 
cloud ; and  the  people  scattered  back  in  panic 
from  the  mere  menace  of  it.  When  they 
looked  again,  they  saw  a white  horror  of 
sea  raving  over  the  place  of  their  homes. 
It  drew  back  roaring,  and  tearing  out  the 


A LIVING  GOD 


25 


bowels  of  the  land  as  it  went.  Twice,  thrice, 
five  times  the  sea  struck  and  ebbed,  but  each 
time  with  lesser  surges  : then  it  returned  to 
its  ancient  bed  and  stayed,  — still  raging,  as 
after  a typhoon. 

On  the  plateau  for  a time  there  was  no 
word  spoken.  All  stared  speechlessly  at  the 
desolation  beneath,  — the  ghastliness  of  hurled 
rock  and  naked  riven  cliff,  the  bewilderment 
of  scooped-up  deep-sea  wrack  and  shingle  shot 
over  the  empty  site  of  dwelling  and  temple. 
The  village  was  not ; the  greater  part  of  the 
fields  were  not ; even  the  terraces  had  ceased 
to  exist ; and  of  all  the  homes  that  had  been 
about  the  bay  there  remained  nothing  recog- 
nizable except  two  straw  roofs  tossing  madly 
in  the  offing.  The  after-terror  of  the  death 
escaped  and  the  stupefaction  of  the  general 
loss  kept  all  lips  dumb,  until  the  voice  of 
Hamaguchi  was  heard  again,  observing 
gently,  — 

“ That  was  why  I set  fire  to  the  rice.” 

He,  their  Choja,  now  stood  among  them 
almost  as  poor  as  the  poorest ; for  his  wealth 
was  gone  — but  he  had  saved  four  hundred 
lives  by  the  sacrifice.  Little  Tada  ran  to 


26 


A LIVING  GOD 


him,  and  caught  his  hand,  and  asked  forgive- 
ness for  having  said  naughty  things.  A V here- 
upon the  people  woke  up  to  the  knowledge  of 
why  they  were  alive,  and  began  to  wonder  at 
the  simple,  unselfish  foresight  that  had  saved 
them ; and  the  headmen  prostrated  them- 
selves in  the  dust  before  Idamaguchi  Gohei, 
and  the  people  after  them. 

Then  the  old  man  wept  a little,  partly  be- 
cause he  was  happy,  and  partly  because  he 
was  aged  and  weak  and  had  been  sorely  tried. 

“ My  house  remains,”  he  said,  as  soon  as 
he  could  find  words,  automatically  caressing 
Tada’s  brown  cheeks ; “ and  there  is  room  for 
many.  Also  the  temple  on  the  hill  stands ; 
and  there  is  shelter  there  for  the  others.” 

Then  he  led  the  way  to  his  house ; and  the 
people  cried  and  shouted. 

The  period  of  distress  was  long,  because  in 
those  days  there  were  no  means  of  quick  com- 
munication between  district  and  district,  and 
the  help  needed  had  to  be  sent  from  far  away. 
But  when  better  times  came,  the  people  did 
not  forget  their  debt  to  Hamaguchi  Gohei. 
They  could  not  make  him  rich ; nor  would 


A LIVING  GOD 


27 


he  have  suffered  them  to  do  so,  even  had  it 
been  possible.  Moreover,  gifts  could  never 
have  sufficed  as  an  expression  of  their  rever- 
ential feeling  towards  him  ; for  they  believed 
that  the  ghost  within  him  was  divine.  So 
they  declared  him  a god,  and  thereafter  called 
him  Hamaguchi  Datuyojin,  thinking  they 
could  give  him  no  greater  honor ; — and  truly 
no  greater  honor  in  any  counti'y  could  be 
given  to  moi’tal  man.  And  when  they  rebuilt 
the  village,  they  built  a temple  to  the  spirit 
of  him,  and  fixed  above  the  front  of  it  a tab- 
let bearing  his  name  in  Chinese  text  of  gold ; 
and  they  worshiped  him  there,  with  prayer 
and  with  offerings.  How  he  felt  about  it  I 
cannot  say  ; — I know  only  that  he  continued 
to  live  in  his  old  thatched  home  upon  the  hill, 
with  his  children  and  his  children’s  childi’en, 
just  as  humanly  and  simply  as  before,  while 
his  soul  was  being  worshiped  in  the  shrine 
below.  A hundred  years  and  more  he  has 
been  dead ; but  his  temple,  they  tell  me,  still 
stands,  and  the  people  still  pray  to  the  ghost 
of  the  good  old  farmer  to  help  them  in  time 
of  fear  or  trouble. 


28 


A LIVING  GOD 


I asked  a Japanese  philosopher  and  friend 
to  explain  to  me  how  the  peasants  could  ra- 
tionally imagine  the  spirit  of  Hamaguchi  in 
one  place  while  his  living  body  was  in  an- 
other. Also  I inquired  whether  it  was  only 
one  of  his  souls  which  they  had  worshiped 
during  his  life,  and  whether  they  imagined 
that  particular  soul  to  have  detached  itself 
from  the  rest  to  receive  homage. 

“ The  peasants,”  my  friend  answered, 
“ think  of  the  mind  or  spirit  of  a person  as 
something  which,  even  during  life,  can  be  in 
many  places  at  the  same  instant.  . . . Such 
an  idea  is,  of  course,  quite  different  from 
Western  ideas  about  the  soul.” 

“ Any  more  rational  ? ” I mischievously 
asked. 

“Well,”  he  responded,  with  a Buddhist 
smile,  “ if  we  accept  the  doctrine  of  the  unity 
of  all  mind,  the  idea  of  the  Japanese  peasant 
would  appear  to  contain  at  least  some  adum- 
bration of  truth.  I could  not  say  so  much  for 
your  Western  notions  about  the  soul.” 


II 


OUT  OP  THE  STREET 

I 

“These,”  said  Manyemon,  putting  on  the 
table  a roll  of  wonderfully  written  Japanese 
manuscript,  “are  Vulgar  Songs.  If  they  are 
to  be  spoken  of  in  some  honorable  book,  per- 
haps it  will  be  good  to  say  that  they  are 
Vulgar,  so  that  Western  people  may  not  be 
deceived.” 

Next  to  my  house  there  is  a vacant  lot, 
where  washermen  ( sentakuya ) work  in  the 
ancient  manner,  — singing  as  they  work,  and 
whipping  the  wet  garments  upon  big  flat  stones. 
Every  morning  at  daybreak  their  singing 
wakens  me ; and  I like  to  listen  to  it,  though 
I cannot  often  catch  the  words.  It  is  full  of 
long,  queer,  plaintive  modulations.  Yester- 
day, the  apprentice  — a lad  of  fifteen  — and 
the  master  of  the  washermen  were  singing  al- 


30 


OUT  OF  THE  STREET 


ternately,  as  if  answering  each  other  ; the  con- 
trast between  the  tones  of  the  man,  sonorous 
as  if  boomed  through  a conch,  and  the  clarion 
alto  of  the  boy,  being  very  pleasant  to  hear. 
Whereupon  I called  Manyemon  and  asked 
him  what  the  singing  was  about. 

“ The  song  of  the  boy,”  he  said,  “ is  an  old 
song : — 

Things  never  changed  since  the  Time  of  the  Gods  : 

The  flowing  of  water,  the  Way  of  Love. 

I heard  it  often  when  I was  myself  a boy.” 

“ And  the  other  song  ? ” 

“ The  other  song  is  probably  new  : — 

Three  years  thought  of  her, 

Five  years  sought  for  her ; 

Only  for  one  night  held  her  in  my  arms. 

A very  foolish  song ! ” 

“ I don’t  know,”  I said.  “ There  are  famous 
Western  romances  containing  nothing  wiser. 
And  what  is  the  rest  of  the  song  ? ” 

“ There  is  no  more : that  is  the  whole  of  the 
song.  If  it  be  honorably  desired,  I can  write 
down  the  songs  of  the  washermen,  and  the 
songs  which  are  sung  in  this  street  by  the 
smiths  and  the  carpenters  and  the  bamboo- 


OUT  OF  THE  STREET  31 

weavers  and  the  rice-cleaners.  But  they  are 
all  nearly  the  same.” 

Thus  came  it  to  pass  that  Manyemon  made 
for  me  a collection  of  Vulgar  Songs. 

By  “ vulgar  ” Manyemon  meant  written  in 
the  speech  of  the  common  people.  He  is  him- 
self an  adept  at  classical  verse,  and  despises 
the  hayari-uta,  or  ditties  of  the  day ; it  re- 
quires something  very  delicate  to  please  him. 
And  what  pleases  him  I am  not  qualified  to 
write  about ; for  one  must  be  a very  good 
Japanese  scholar  to  meddle  with  the  superior 
varieties  of  Japanese  poetry.  If  you  care  to 
know  how  difficult  the  subject  is,  just  study 
the  chapter  on  prosody  in  Aston’s  Grammar 
of  the  Japanese  Written  Language,  or  the 
introduction  to  Professor  Chamberlain’s  Clas- 
sical Poetry  of  the  Japanese.  Her  poetry  is 
the  one  original  ai’t  which  Japan  has  certainly 
not  borrowed  either  from  China  or  from  any 
other  country ; and  its  most  refined  charm  is 
the  essence,  irreproducible,  of  the  very  flower 
of  the  language  itself  : hence  the  difficulty  of 
representing,  even  partially,  in  any  Western 
tongue,  its  subtler  delicacies  of  sentiment, 


32 


OUT  OF  THE  STREET 


allusion,  and  color.  But  to  understand  the 
compositions  of  the  people  no  scholarship  is 
needed  : they  are  characterized  by  the  greatest 
possible  simplicity,  directness,  and  sincerity. 
The  real  art  of  them,  in  short,  is  their  absolute 
artlessness.  That  was  why  I wanted  them. 
Springing  straight  from  the  heart  of  the  eter- 
nal youth  of  the  race,  these  little  gushes  of 
song,  like  the  untaught  poetry  of  every  peo- 
ple, utter  what  belongs  to  all  human  experi- 
ence rather  than  to  the  limited  life  of  a class 
or  a time  ; and  even  in  their  melodies  still 
resound  the  fresh  and  powerful  pulsings  of 
their  primal  source. 

Manyemon  had  written  down  forty-seven 
songs  ; and  with  his  help  I made  free  render- 
ings of  the  best.  They  were  very  brief,  vary- 
ing from  seventeen  to  thirty-one  syllables  in 
length.  Nearly  all  Japanese  poetical  metre 
consists  of  simple  alternations  of  lines  of  five 
and  seven  syllables  ; the  frequent  exceptions 
which  popular  songs  offer  to  this  rule  being 
merely  irregularities  such  as  the  singer  can 
smooth  over  either  by  slurring  or  by  prolong- 
ing certain  vowel  sounds.  Most  of  the  songs 


OUT  OF  THE  STREET 


33 


which  Manyemon  had  collected  were  of  twenty- 
six  syllables  only ; being  composed  of  three 
successive  lines  of  seven  syllables  each,  fol- 
lowed by  one  of  five,  thus  : — 

Ka-mi-yo  ko-no-ka-ta 
Ka-wa-ra-nu  mo-no  wa : 

Mi-dzu  no  na-ga-rd  to 
Ko-i  no  mi-chi.1 

Among  various  deviations  from  this  con- 
struction I found  7-7-7-T-5 , and  5-7-7-7-5,  and 
7-5-7-5,  and  5-7-5 ; but  the  classical  five-line 
form  (tanka'),  represented  by  5-7-5-7-7,  was 
entirely  absent. 

Terms  indicating  gender  were  likewise  ab- 
sent ; even  the  expressions  corresponding  to 
“ I ” and  “ you  ” being  seldom  used,  and  the 
words  signifying  “ beloved  ” applying  equally 
to  either  sex.  Only  by  the  conventional  value 
of  some  comparison,  the  use  of  a particular 
emotional  tone,  or  the  mention  of  some  detail 
of  costume,  was  the  sex  of  the  speaker  sug- 
gested, as  in  this  verse  : — 

1 am  the  water-weed  drifting , — finding  no  place  of  attach- 
ment : 

Where,  I wonder,  and  when,  shall  my  flower  begin  to  bloom  ? 

1 Literally,  “ God-Age-since  not-changed-things  as-for: 
water-of  flowing  and  love-of  way." 


34 


OUT  OF  THE  STREET 


Evidently  the  speaker  is  a girl  who  wishes  for 
a lover : the  same  simile  uttered  by  masculine 
lips  would  sound  in  Japanese  ears  much  as 
would  sound  in  English  ears  a man’s  com- 
parison of  himself  to  a violet  or  to  a rose. 
For  the  like  reason,  one  knows  that  in  the  fol- 
lowing song  the  speaker  is  not  a woman  : — 

Flowers  in  both  my  hands,  — flowers  of  plum  and  cherry  : 

1 \hich  will  be,  I wonder,  the  flower  to  give  me  fruit  ? 

Womanly  charm  is  compared  to  the  cherry 
flower  and  also  to  the  plum  flower ; but  the 
quality  symbolized  by  the  plum  flower  is  moral 
always  rather  than  physical.1  The  verse  rep- 
resents a man  strongly  attracted  by  two  girls : 
one,  perhaps  a dancer,  very  fair  to  look  upon  ; 
the  other  beautiful  in  character.  Which  shall 
he  choose  to  he  his  companion  for  life? 

One  more  example  : — 

Too  long,  with  pen  in  hand,  idling,  fearing,  and  doubting, 

I cast  my  silver  pin  for  the  test  of  the  tatamizan. 

Here  we  know  from  the  mention  of  the  hair- 
pin that  the  speaker  is  a woman,  and  we  can 
also  suppose  that  she  is  a geisha, ; the  sort  of 
divination  called  tatamizan  being  especially 
1 See  Glimpses  of  Unfamiliar  Japan,  ii.  357. 


OUT  OF  THE  STREET 


35 


popular  with  dancing-girls.  The  rush  cover- 
ing of  floor-mats  ( tatami ),  woven  over  a frame 
of  thin  strings,  shows  on  its  upper  surface  a 
regular  series  of  lines  about  three  fourths  of 
an  inch  apart.  The  girl  throws  her  pin  upon 
a mat,  and  then  counts  the  lines  it  touches. 
According  to  their  number  she  deems  herself 
lucky  or  unlucky.  Sometimes  a little  pipe  — 
geishas’  pipes  are  usually  of  silver  — is  used 
instead  of  the  hairpin. 

The  theme  of  all  the  songs  was  love,  as 
indeed  it  is  of  the  vast  majority  of  the  Japa- 
nese chansons  des  rues  et  des  bois ; even 
songs  about  celebrated  places  usually  contain- 
ing some  amatory  suggestion.  I noticed  that 
almost  every  simple  phase  of  the  emotion,  from 
its  earliest  budding  to  its  uttermost  ripening, 
was  represented  in  the  collection  ; and  I there- 
fore tried  to  arrange  the  pieces  according  to 
the  natural  passional  sequence.  The  result 
had  some  dramatic  suggestiveness. 

ii 

The  songs  really  form  three  distinct  groups, 
each  corresponding  to  a particular  period  of 


36 


OUT  OF  THE  STREET 


that  emotional  experience  which  is  the  subject 
of  all.  In  the  first  group  of  seven  the  surprise 
and  pain  and  weakness  of  passion  find  utter- 
ance ; beginning  with  a plaintive  cry  of  re- 
proach and  closing  with  a whisper  of  trust. 

i 

You , by  all  others  disliked  ! — oh,  why  must  my  heart  thus  like 


This  pain  which  I cannot  speak  of  to  any  one  in  the  world  : 
Tell  me  who  has  made  it, — whose  do  you  think  the  fault  ? 

m 

Will  it  be  night  forever  ? — I lose  my  way  in  this  darkness : 
Who  goes  by  the  path  of  Love  must  always  go  astray  ! 

IV 

Even  the  brightest  lamp,  even  the  light  electric. 

Cannot  lighten  at  all  the  dusk  of  the  Way  of  Love. 

v 

Always  the  more  I love,  the  more  it  is  hard  to  say  so: 

Oh  ! how  happy  I were  should  the  loved  one  say  it  first ! 

VI 

Such  a little  word — only  to  say,  “ I love  you  ” ! 

Why,  oh,  why  do  I find  it  hard  to  say  like  this  ? 1 

1 Inimitably  simple  in  the  original : — 

Horeta  wai  na  to 
Sukoshi  no  koto  ga : 

Naz4  ni  kono  yo  ni 
Jinikui? 


OUT  OF  THE  STREET 


37 


VII 

Clicked-to  1 the  locks  of  our  hearts  ; let  the  keys  remain  in  our 
bosoms. 

After  which  mutual  confidence  the  illusion 
naturally  deepens ; suffering  yields  to  a joy 
that  cannot  disguise  itself,  and  the  keys  of  the 
heart  are  thrown  away:  this  is  the  second 
stage. 

i 

The  person  who  said  before,  “ I hate  my  life  since  I saw  you,” 
Now  after  union  prays  to  live  for  a thousand  years. 

n 

You  and  I togethei lilies  that  grow  in  a valley : 

This  is  our  blossoming-time  — but  nobody  knows  the  fact. 

in 

Receiving  from  his  hand  the  cup  of  the  wine  of  greeting, 

Even  before  I drink,  I feel  that  my  face  grows  red. 

1 In  the  original  this  is  expressed  by  an  onomatope,  pinto, 
imitating  the  sound  of  the  fastening  of  the  lock  of  a tansu, 
or  chest  of  drawers : — 

Pinto  kokoro  ni 
Jomai  oroshi : 

Kagi  wa  tagai  no 
Mun4  ni  aru. 


38 


OUT  OF  THE  STREET 


IV 

I cannot  hide  in  my  heart  the  happy  knowledge  that  Jills  it; 
Asking  each  not  to  tell,  I sprread  the  news  all  round.1 

V 

All  crows  alike  are  black,  everywhere  under  heaven. 

The  person  that  others  like , why  should  not  I like  too  ? 

VI 

Going  to  see  the  beloved,  a thousand  ri  are  as  one  ri  ; 2 
Returning  without  having  seen,  one  ri  is  a thousand  ri. 

VII 

Going  to  see  the  beloved,  even  the  water  of  rice-fields  3 
Ever  becomes,  as  I drink,  nectar  of  gods  4 to  the  taste. 

1 Much  simpler  in  the  original : — 

Mun^  ni  tsutsumenu 
Ur^shii  koto  wa ; — 

Kuehidom4  shinagara 
Fur&iruku. 

2 One  ri  is  equal  to  about  two  and  a half  English  miles, 
8 In  the  original  dorota;  literally  “mud  rice-fields,”  — 

meaning  rice-fields  during  the  time  of  flushing,  before  the 
grain  has  fairly  grown  up.  The  whole  verse  reads : — 
Horet4  kayoyeha 
Dorota  no  midzu  mo 
Nomdba  kanro  no 
Aji  ga  suru. 

4 Kanro,  a Buddhist  word,  properly  written  with  two 
Chinese  characters  signifying  “sweet  dew.”  The  real  mean- 
ing is  amrita,  the  drink  of  the  gods. 


OUT  OF  THE  STREET 


39 


yrn 

You,  till  a hundred  years ; I,  until  nine  and  ninety  ; 

Together  we  still  shall  be  in  the  time  when  the  hair  turns  white. 

ix 

Seeing  the  face,  at  once  the  folly  I wanted  to  utter 

All  melts  out  of  my  thought,  and  somehow  the  tears  come  first ! 1 

x 

Crying  for  joy  made  wet  my  sleeve  that  dries  too  quickly : 

’T  is  not  the  same  with  the  heart,  — that  cannot  dry  so  soon  ! 

xi 

To  Heaven  with  all  my  soul  I grayed  to  prevent  your  going ; 
Already,  to  keep  you  with  me,  answers  the  blessed  rain. 

So  passes  the  period  of  illusion.  The  rest 
is  doubt  and  pain ; only  the  love  remains  to 
challenge  even  death : — 

i 

Parted  from  you,  my  beloved,  I go  alone  to  the  pine-field  ; 
There  is  dew  of  night  on  the  leaves ; there  is  also  dew  of  tears. 

1 Iitai  guchi  say6 
Kao  miriya  kiy^t£ 

Tokaku  namida  ga 
Saki  ni  dera. 

The  use  of  tokaku  (“somehow,”  for  “ some  reason  or 
other  ”)  gives  a peculiar  pathos  to  the  utterance. 


40 


OUT  OF  THE  STREET 


ii 

Even  to  see  the  birds  flying  freely  above  me 

Only  deepens  my  sorrow,  — makes  me  thoughtful  the  more. 

in 

Coming  ? or  coming  not  ? Far  down  the  river  gazing,  — 

Only  yomogi  shadows  1 astir  in  the  bed  of  the  stream. 

IV 

Letters  come  by  the  post ; photographs  give  me  the  shadow  ! 
Only  one  thing  remains  which  I cannot  hope  to  gain. 

v 

If  I may  not  see  the  face,  but  only  look  at  the  letter, 

Then  it  were  better  far  only  in  dreams  to  see. 

VI 

Though  his  body  were  broken  to  pieces,  though  his  bones  on  the 
shore  were  bleaching, 

I would  find  my  way  to  rejoin  him,  after  gathering  up  the 
bones ? 

1 The  plant  yomogi  (Artemisia  vulgaris)  grows  wild  in 
many  of  the  half-dry  beds  of  the  Japanese  rivers. 

- Mi  \va  kuda  kuda  ni 
Hon4  wo  isob<5  ni 
Sarasoto  mama  yo 
Hiroi  atsum4t4 

Sot4  misho. 

The  only  song  of  this  form  in  the  collection.  The  use  of 
the  verb  soi  implies  union  as  husband  and  wife. 


OUT  OF  THE  STREET 


41 


III 

Thus  was  it  that  these  little  songs,  com- 
posed in  different  generations  and  in  different 
parts  of  Japan  by  various  persons,  seemed  to 
shape  themselves  for  me  into  the  ghost  of  a 
romance,  — into  the  shadow  of  a story  need- 
ing no  name  of  time  or  place  or  person,  be- 
cause eternally  the  same,  in  all  times  and 
places. 

Manyemon  asks  which  of  the  songs  I like 
best ; and  I turn  over  his  manuscript  again  to 
see  if  I can  make  a choice.  Without,  in  the 
bright  spring  air,  the  washers  are  working; 
and  I hear  the  heavy  pon-pon  of  the  beating 
of  wet  robes,  regular  as  the  beating  of  a heart. 
Suddenly,  as  I muse,  the  voice  of  the  boy 
soars  up  in  one  long,  clear,  shrill,  splendid 
rocket-tone,  — and  breaks,  — and  softly  trem- 
bles down  in  coruscations  of  fractional  notes  ; 
singing  the  song  that  Manyemon  remembers 
hearing  when  he  himself  was  a boy : — 

Things  never  changed  since  the  Time  of  the  Gods  : 

The  flowing  of  water,  the  Way  of  Love. 


42 


OUT  OF  THE  STREET 


“ I think  that  is  the  best,”  I said.  “ It  is 
the  soul  of  all  the  rest.” 

“ Hin  no  nusubito,  koi  no  uta,”  interpreta- 
tively  murmurs  Manyemon.  “ Even  as  out 
of  poverty  comes  the  thief,  so  out  of  love  the 
song  I ” 


HI 


NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO 
I 

It  had  been  intended  to  celebrate  in  spring 
the  eleven  hundredth  anniversary  of  the  foun- 
dation of  Kyoto ; but  the  outbreak  of  pesti- 
lence caused  postponement  of  the  festival  to 
the  autumn,  and  the  celebration  began  on  the 
15th  of  the  tenth  month.  Little  festival  med- 
als of  nickel,  made  to  be  pinned  to  the  breast, 
like  military  decorations,  were  for  sale  at  half 
a yen  each.  These  medals  entitled  the  wear- 
ers to  special  cheap  fares  on  all  the  Japanese 
railroad  and  steamship  lines,  and  to  other 
desirable  privileges,  such  as  free  entrance  to 
wonderful  palaces,  gardens,  and  temples.  On 
the  23d  of  October  I found  myself  in  posses- 
sion of  a medal,  and  journeying  to  Kyoto 
by  the  first  morning  train,  which  was  over- 
crowded with  people  eager  to  witness  the 
great  historical  processions  announced  for  the 


44  NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO 


24th  and  25th.  Many  had  to  travel  stand- 
ing, but  the  crowd  was  good-natured  and 
merry.  A number  of  my  fellow-passengers 
were  Osaka  geisha  going  to  the  festival. 
They  diverted  themselves  by  singing  songs 
and  by  playing  ken  with  some  male  acquaint- 
ances, and  their  kittenish  pranks  and  funny 
cries  kept  everybody  amused.  One  had  an 
extraordinary  voice,  with  which  she  could 
twitter  like  a sparrow. 

You  can  always  tell  by  the  voices  of  women 
conversing  anywhere  — in  a hotel,  for  exam- 
ple — if  there  happen  to  be  any  geisha  among 
them,  because  the  peculiar  timbre  given  by 
professional  training  is  immediately  recogniz- 
able. The  wonderful  character  of  that  train- 
ing, however,  is  fairly  manifested  only  when 
the  really  professional  tones  of  the  voice  are 
used,  — falsetto  tones,  never  touching,  but 
often  curiously  sweet.  Now,  the  street  sing- 
ers, the  poor  blind  women  who  sing  ballads 
with  the  natural  voice  only,  use  tones  that 
draw  tears.  The  voice  is  generally  a power- 
fid  contralto ; anid  the  deep  tones  are  the 
tones  that  touch.  The  falsetto  tones  of  the 
geisha  rise  into  a treble  above  the  natural 


NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO  45 


range  of  the  adult  voice,  and  as  penetrating 
as  a bird’s.  In  a banquet-hall  full  of  guests, 
you  can  distinctly  bear,  above  all  the  sound 
of  drums  and  samisen  and  chatter  and  laugh- 
ter, the  thin,  sweet  cry  of  the  geisha  playing 
ken, — 

“ Futatsu  ! futatsu  ! futatsu  ! ” — 

while  you  may  be  quite  unable  to  hear  the 
shouted  response  of  the  man  she  plays  with,  — 

“ Mitsu  ! mitsu  ! mitsu  ” 

II 

The  first  surprise  with  which  Kyoto  greeted 
her  visitors  was  the  beauty  of  her  festival 
decorations.  Every  street  had  been  prepared 
for  illumination.  Before  each  house  had  been 
planted  a new  lantern-post  of  unpainted  wood, 
from  which  a lantern  bearing  some  appropri- 
ate design  was  suspended.  There  were  also 
national  flags  and  sprigs  of  pine  above  each 
entrance.  But  the  lanterns  made  the  charm 
of  the  display.  In  each  section  of  street 
they  were  of  the  same  form,  and  were  fixed 
at  exactly  the  same  height,  and  were  pro- 
tected from  possible  bad  weather  by  the  same 
kind  of  covering.  But  in  different  streets  the 


46  NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO 


lanterns  were  different.  In  some  of  the  wide 
thoroughfares  they  were  very  large ; and  while 
in  some  streets  each  was  sheltered  by  a little 
wooden  awning,  in  others  every  lantern  had 
a Japanese  pajjer  umbrella  spread  and  fas- 
tened above  it. 

There  was  no  pageant  on  the  morning  of 
my  arrival,  and  I spent  a couple  of  hours 
delightfully  at  the  festival  exhibition  of  kake- 
mono in  the  imperial  summer  palace  called 
Omuro  Gosho.  Unlike  the  professional  art 
display  which  I had  seen  in  the  spring,  this 
represented  chiefly  the  work  of  students  ; and 
I found  it  incomparably  more  original  and 
attractive.  Nearly  all  the  pictures,  thou- 
sands in  number,  were  for  sale,  at  prices 
ranging  from  three  to  fifty  yen ; and  it  was 
impossible  not  to  buy  to  the  limit  of  one’s 
purse.  There  were  studies  of  nature  evi- 
dently made  on  the  spot:  such  as  a glimpse 
of  hazy  autumn  rice-fields,  with  dragonflies 
darting  over  the  drooping  grain ; maples 
crimsoning  above  a tremendous  gorge ; ranges 
of  peaks  steeped  in  morning  mist ; and  a peas- 
ant’s cottage  perched  on  the  verge  of  some 
dizzy  mountain  road.  Also  there  were  fine 


NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO  47 


bits  of  realism,  such  as  a cat  seizing  a mouse 
in  the  act  of  stealing  the  offerings  placed  in  a 
Buddhist  household  shrine. 

But  I have  no  intention  to  try  the  reader’s 
patience  with  a description  of  pictures.  I 
mention  my  visit  to  the  display  only  because 
of  something  I saw  there  more  interesting 
than  any  picture.  Near  the  main  entrance 
was  a specimen  of  handwriting,  intended  to 
be  mounted  as  a kakemono  later  on,  and  tem- 
porarily fixed  upon  a board  about  three  feet 
long  by  eighteen  inches  wide,  — a Japanese 
poem.  It  was  a wonder  of  calligraphy.  In- 
stead of  the  usual  red  stamp  or  seal  with 
which  the  Japanese  calligrapher  marks  his 
masterpieces,  I saw  the  red  imprint  of  a tiny, 
tiny  hand,  — a living  hand,  which  had  been 
smeared  with  crimson  printing-ink  and  deftly 
pressed  upon  the  paper.  I could  distinguish 
those  little  finger-marks  of  which  Mr.  Gal- 
ton  has  taught  us  the  characteristic  impor- 
tance. 

That  writing  had  been  done  in  the  presence 
of  His  Imperial  Majesty  by  a child  of  six 
years,  — or  of  five,  according  to  our  W estern 
method  of  computing  age  from  the  date  of 


48  NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO 


birtli.  The  prime  minister,  Marquis  Ito,  saw 
the  miracle,  ancl  adopted  the  little  hoy,  whose 
present  name  is  therefore  Ito  Medzui. 

Even  Japanese  observers  could  scarcely  be- 
lieve the  testimony  of  their  own  eyes.  Few 
adult  calligraphers  could  surpass  that  writ- 
ing. Certainly  no  Occidental  artist,  even 
after  years  of  study,  could  repeat  the  feat 
performed  by  the  brush  of  that  child  before 
the  Emperor.  Of  course  such  a child  can 
be  born  but  once  in  a thousand  years,  — to 
realize,  or  almost  realize,  the  ancient  Chinese 
legends  of  divinely  inspired  writers. 

Still,  it  was  not  the  beauty  of  the  thing  in 
itself  which  impressed  me,  but  the  weird,  ex- 
traordinary, indubitable  proof  it  afforded  of 
an  inherited  memory  so  vivid  as  to  be  almost 
equal  to  the  recollection  of  former  births. 
Generations  of  dead  calligraphers  revived  in 
the  fingers  of  that  tiny  hand.  The  thing 
was  never  the  work  of  an  individual  child 
five  years  old,  but  beyond  all  question  the 
work  of  ghosts,  — the  countless  ghosts  that 
make  the  compound  ancestral  sold.  It  was 
proof  visible  and  tangible  of  psychological 
and  physiological  wonders  justifying  both  the 


NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO  49 


Shinto  doctrine  of  ancestor  worship  and  the 
Buddhist  doctrine  of  preexistence. 

ill 

After  looking  at  all  the  pictures  I visited 
the  great  palace  garden,  only  recently  opened 
to  the  public.  It  is  called  the  Garden  of  the 
Cavern  of  the  Genii.  (At  least  “ genii  ” is 
about  the  only  word  one  can  use  to  translate 
the  term  “ Sennin,”  for  which  there  is  no  real 
English  equivalent ; the  Sennin,  who  are  sup- 
posed to  possess  immortal  life,  and  to  haunt 
forests  or  caverns,  being  Japanese,  or  rather 
Chinese  mythological  transformations  of  the 
Indian  Rishi.)  The  garden  deserves  its 
name.  I felt  as  if  I had  indeed  entered  an 
enchanted  place. 

It  is  a landscape-garden,  — a Buddhist 
creation,  belonging  to  what  is  now  simply  a 
palace,  but  was  once  a monastery,  built  as  a 
religious  retreat  for  emperors  and  princes 
weary  of  earthly  vanities.  The  first  impres- 
sion received  after  passing  the  gate  is  that  of 
a grand  old  English  park  : the  colossal  trees, 
the  shorn  grass,  the  broad  walks,  the  fresh 
sweet  scent  of  verdure,  all  awaken  English 


50  NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO 


memories.  But  as  you  proceed  farther  these 
memories  are  slowly  effaced,  and  the  true 
Oriental  impression  defines  : you  perceive 
that  the  forms  of  those  mighty  trees  are  not 
European ; various  and  surprising  exotic  de- 
tails reveal  themselves ; and  then  you  are 
gazing  down  upon  a sheet  of  water  contain- 
ing high  rocks  and  islets  connected  by  bridges 
of  the  strangest  shapes.  Gradually,  — only 
gradually,  — the  immense  charm,  the  weird 
Buddhist  charm  of  the  place,  grows  aud  grows 
upon  you  ; and  the  sense  of  its  vast  antiquity 
defines  to  touch  that  chord  of  the  aesthetic 
feeling  which  brings  the  vibration  of  awe. 

Considered  as  a human  work  alone,  the 
garden  is  a marvel : only  the  skilled  labor  of 
thousands  could  have  joined  together  the  mere 
bones  of  it,  the  prodigious  rocky  skeleton  of 
its  plan.  This  once  shaped  and  earthed  and 
planted,  Nature  was  left  alone  to  finish  the 
wonder.  Working  through  ten  centuries,  she 
has  surpassed  — nay,  unspeakably  magnified 
— the  dream  of  the  artist.  Without  exact 
information,  no  stranger  unfamiliar  with  the 
laws  and  the  purpose  of  Japanese  garden-con- 
struction could  imagine  that  all  this  had  a 


NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO  51 


human  designer  some  thousand  years  ago: 
the  effect  is  that  of  a section  of  primeval  for- 
est, preserved  untouched  from  the  beginning, 
and  walled  away  from  the  rest  of  the  world  in 
the  heart  of  the  old  capital.  The  rock-faces, 
the  great  fantastic  roots,  the  shadowed  by- 
paths, the  few  ancient  graven  monoliths,  are 
all  cushioned  with  the  moss  of  ages ; and 
climbing  things  have  developed  stems  a foot 
thick,  that  hang  across  spaces  like  monstrous 
serpents.  Parts  of  the  garden  vividly  recall 
some  aspects  of  tropical  nature  in  the  An- 
tilles ; — though  one  misses  the  palms,  the 
bewildering  web  and  woof  of  lianas,  the  rep- 
tiles, and  the  sinister  day-silence  of  a West 
Indian  forest.  The  joyous  storm  of  bird  life 
overhead  is  an  astonishment,  and  proclaims 
gratefully  to  the  visitor  that  the  "wild  crea- 
tures of  this  monastic  paradise  have  never- 
been  harmed  or  frightened  by  man.  As  I 
arrived  at  last,  with  regret,  at  the  gate  of  exit, 
I could  not  help  feeling  envious  of  its  keeper  : 
only  to  be  a servant  in  such  a garden  were  a 
privilege  well  worth  praying  for. 


52  NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO 


IV 

Feeling  hungry,  I told  my  runner  to  take 
me  to  a restaurant,  because  the  hotel  was  very 
far ; and  the  kuruma  bore  me  into  an  obscure 
street,  and  halted  before  a rickety-looking 
house  with  some  misspelled  English  painted 
above  the  entrance.  I remember  only  the 
word  “ forign.”  After  taking  off  my  shoes  I 
climbed  three  flights  of  breakneck  stairs,  or 
rather  ladders,  to  find  in  the  third  story  a set 
of  rooms  furnished  in  foreign  style.  The  win- 
dows were  glass ; the  linen  was  satisfactory  ; 
the  only  things  Japanese  were  the  mattings 
and  a welcome  smoking-box.  American  chro- 
mo-lithographs decorated  the  walls.  Never- 
theless, I suspected  that  few  foreigners  had 
ever  been  in  the  house  : it  existed  by  sending 
out  Western  cooking,  in  little  tin  boxes,  to 
native  hotels  ; and  the  rooms  had  doubtless 
been  fitted  up  for  Japanese  visitors. 

I noticed  that  the  plates,  cups,  and  other 
utensils  bore  the  monogram  of  a long-defunct 
English  hotel  which  used  to  exist  in  one  of 
the  open  ports.  The  dinner  was  served  by 
nice-looking  girls,  who  had  certainly  been 


NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO  53 


trained  by  somebody  accustomed  to  foreign 
service ; but  their  innocent  curiosity  and  ex- 
treme shyness  convinced  me  that  they  had 
never  waited  upon  a real  foreigner  before. 
Suddenly  I observed  on  a table  at  the  other 
end  of  the  room  something  resembling  a 
music-box,  and  covered  with  a piece  of  cro- 
chet-work! I went  to  it,  and  discovered  the 
wreck  of  a lieroplione.  There  were  plenty 
of  perforated  musical  selections.  I fixed  the 
crank  in  place,  anti  tried  to  extort  the  music 
of  a German  song,  entitled  “Five  Hundred 
Thousand  Devils.”  The  herophone  gurgled, 
moaned,  roared  for  a moment,  sobbed,  roared 
again,  and  relapsed  into  silence.  1 tried  a 
number  of  other  selections,  including  “ Les 
Cloches  de  Corneville ; ” but  the  noises  pro- 
duced were  in  all  cases  about  the  same.  Evi- 
dently the  thing  had  been  bought,  together 
with  the  monogram-bearing  delft  and  bri- 
tannia  ware,  at  some  auction  sale  in  one  of 
the  foreign  settlements.  There  was  a queer 
melancholy  in  the  experience,  difficult  to  ex- 
press. One  must  have  lived  in  Japan  to 
understand  why  the  thing  appeared  so  exiled, 
so  pathetically  out  of  place,  so  utterly  misun- 


54  NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO 


derstood.  Our  harmonized  Western  music 
means  simply  so  much  noise  to  the  average 
J apanese  ear  : and  I felt  quite  sure  that  the 
internal  condition  of  the  herophone  remained 
unknown  to  its  Oriental  proprietor. 

An  equally  singular  but  more  pleasant  ex- 
perience awaited  me  on  the  road  back  to  the 
hotel.  I halted  at  a second-hand  furniture 
shop  to  look  at  some  curiosities,  and  perceived, 
among  a lot  of  old  books,  a big  volume  bear- 
ing in  letters  of  much-tarnished  gold  the  title, 
Atlantic  Monthly.  Looking  closer,  I saw 
“ Vol.  Y.  Boston  : Ticknor  & Fields.  1860.” 
Volumes  of  The  Atlantic  of  I860  are  not  com- 
mon anywhere.  I asked  the  price  ; and  the 
Japanese  shopkeeper  said  fifty  sen,  because 
it  was  “a  very  large  book.”  I was  much 
too  pleased  to  think  of  bargaining  with  him, 
and  secured  the  prize.  I looked  through  its 
stained  pages  for  old  friends,  and  found  them, 
— all  anonymous  in  1865,  many  world-famous 
in  1895.  There  were  installments  of  “Elsie 
Venner,”  under  the  title  of  “ The  Professor’s 
Story  ; ” chapters  of  “ Roba  di  Roma  ; ” a 
poem  called  “ Pythagoras,”  but  since  renamed 


NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO  55 


“ Metempsychosis,  ” as  lovers  of  Thomas  Bai- 
ley Aldrich  are  doubtless  aware ; the  personal 
narrative  of  a filibuster  with  Walker  in  Nica- 
ragua ; admirable  papers  upon  the  Maroons 
of  Jamaica  and  the  Maroons  of  Surinam; 
and,  among  other  precious  things,  an  essay  on 
Japan,  opening  with  the  significant  sentence, 
“ The  arrival  in  this  country  of  an  embassy 
from  Japan,  the  first  political  delegation  ever 
vouchsafed  to  a foreign  nation  by  that  reticent 
and  jealous  people,  is  now  a topic  of  universal 
interest.”  A little  farther  on,  some  popular 
misapprehensions  of  the  period  were  thus  cor- 
rected : “ Although  now  known  to  be  entirely 
distinct,  the  Chinese  and  Japanese  . . . were 
for  a long  time  looked  upon  as  kindred  races, 
and  esteemed  alike.  ...  We  find  that  while, 
on  close  examination,  the  imagined  attractions 
of  China  disappear,  those  of  Japan  become 
more  definite.”  Any  Japanese  of  this  self- 
assertive  twenty-eighth  year  of  Meiji  could 
scarcely  find  fault  with  The  Atlantic’s  esti- 
mate of  his  country  thirty-five  years  ago : “ Its 
commanding  position,  its  wealth,  its  commer- 
cial resources,  and  the  quick  intelligence  of 
its  people,  — not  at  all  inferior  to  that  of  the 


56  NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO 


people  of  the  West,  although  naturally  re- 
stricted in  its  development,  — give  to  Japan 
. . . an  importance  far  above  that  of  any 
other  Eastern  country.”  The  only  error  of 
this  generous  estimate  was  an  error  centuries 
old,  — the  delusion  of  Japan’s  wealth.  What 
made  me  feel  a little  ancient  was  to  recognize 
in  the  quaint  spellings  Ziogoon,  Tycoon,  Sin- 
too,  Kiusiu,  Fide-yosi,  Nobanunga,  — spell- 
ings of  the  old  Dutch  and  old  Jesuit  writers, 

— the  modern  and  familiar  Shogun,  Taikun, 
Shinto,  Kyushu,  Hideyoshi,  and  Nobunaga. 

I passed  the  evening  wandering  through 
the  illuminated  streets,  and  visited  some  of 
the  numberless  shows.  I saw  a young  man 
writing  Buddhist  texts  and  drawing  horses 
with  his  feet;  the  extraordinary  fact  about 
the  work  being  that  the  texts  were  written 
backwards,  — from  the  bottom  of  the  column 
up,  just  as  an  ordinary  calligrapher  would 
write  them  from  the  top  of  the  column  down, 

— and  the  pictures  of  horses  were  always 
commenced  with  the  tail.  I saw  a kind  of 
amphitheatre,  with  an  aquarium  in  lieu  of 
arena,  where  mermaids  swam  and  sang  Japa- 


NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO  57 


nese  songs.  I saw  maidens  “ made  by  glamour 
out  of  flowers  ” by  a Japanese  cultivator  of 
chrysanthemums.  And  between  whiles  I 
peeped  into  the  toy-shops,  full  of  novelties. 
What  there  especially  struck  me  was  the  dis- 
play of  that  astounding  ingenuity  by  which 
Japanese  inventors  are  able  to  reach,  at  a cost 
too  small  to  name,  precisely  the  same  results 
as  those  exhibited  in  our  expensive  mechani- 
cal toys.  A group  of  cocks  and  hens  made 
of  paper  were  set  to  pecking  imaginary  grain 
out  of  a basket  by  the  pressure  of  a bamboo 
spring,  — the  whole  thing  costing  half  a cent. 
An  artificial  mouse  ran  about,  doubling  and 
scurrying,  as  if  trying  to  slip  under  mats  or 
into  chinks : it  cost  only  one  cent,  and  was 
made  with  a bit  of  colored  paper,  a spool  of 
baked  clay,  and  a long  thread  ; you  had  only 
to  pull  the  thread,  and  the  mouse  began  to 
run.  Butterflies  of  paper,  moved  by  an 
equally  simple  device,  began  to  fly  when 
thrown  into  the  air.  An  artificial  cuttlefish 
began  to  wriggle  all  its  tentacles  when  you 
blew  into  a little  rush  tube  fixed  under  its 
head. 


58  NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO 


When  I decided  to  return,  the  lanterns 
were  out,  the  shops  were  closing ; and  the 
streets  darkened  about  me  long  before  I 
reached  the  hotel.  After  the  great  glow  of 
the  illumination,  the  witchcrafts  of  the  shows, 
the  merry  tumult,  the  sea-like  sound  of  wooden 
sandals,  this  sudden  coming  of  blankness  and 
silence  made  me  feel  as  if  the  previous  expe- 
rience had  been  unreal,  — an  illusion  of  light 
and  color  and  noise  made  just  to  deceive,  as 
in  stories  of  goblin  foxes.  But  the  quick 
vanishing  of  all  that  composes  a Japanese 
festival-night  really  lends  a keener  edge  to 
the  pleasure  of  remembrance : there  is  no 
slow  fading  out  of  the  phantasmagoria,  and 
its  memory  is  thus  kept  free  from  the  least 
tinge  of  melancholy. 


V 

While  I was  thinking  about  the  fugitive 
charm  of  Japanese  amusements,  the  question 
put  itself,  Are  not  all  pleasures  keen  in  pro- 
portion to  their  evanescence  ? Proof  of  the 
affirmative  would  lend  strong  support  to  the 
Buddhist  theory  of  the  nature  of  pleasure. 
We  know  that  mental  enjoyments  are  power- 


NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO  59 


ful  in  proportion  to  the  complexity  of  the 
feelings  and  ideas  composing  them  ; and  the 
most  complex  feelings  would  therefore  seem 
to  be  of  necessity  the  briefest.  At  all  events, 
Japanese  popular  pleasures  have  the  double 
peculiarity  of  being  evanescent  and  complex, 
not  merely  because  of  their  delicacy  and  their 
multiplicity  of  detail,  but  because  this  delicacy 
and  multiplicity  are  adventitious,  depending 
upon  temporary  conditions  and  combinations. 
Among  such  conditions  are  the  seasons  of 
flowering  and  of  fading,  hours  of  sunshine  or 
full  moon,  a change  of  place,  a shifting  of 
light  and  shade.  Among  combinations  are 
the  fugitive  holiday  manifestations  of  the  race 
genius : fragilities  utilized  to  create  illusion  ; 
dreams  made  visible ; memories  revived  in 
symbols,  images,  ideographs,  dashes  of  color, 
fragments  of  melody ; countless  minute  ap- 
peals both  to  individual  experience  and  to 
national  sentiment.  And  the  emotional  re- 
sult remains  incommunicable  to  Western 
minds,  because  the  myriad  little  details  and 
suggestions  producing  it  belong  to  a world 
incomprehensible  without  years  of  familiarity, 
— a world  of  traditions,  beliefs,  superstitions, 


60  NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO 


feelings,  ideas,  about  which  foreigners,  as  a 
general  rule,  know  nothing.  Even  by  the 
few  who  do  know  that  world,  the  nameless 
delicious  sensation,  the  great  vague  wave  of 
pleasure  excited  by  the  spectacle  of  Japanese 
enjoyment,  can  only  be  described  as  the  feel- 
ing of  Japan. 

A sociological  fact  of  interest  is  suggested 
by  the  amazing  cheapness  of  these  pleasures. 
The  charm  of  Japanese  life  presents  us  with 
the  extraordinary  phenomenon  of  poverty  as 
an  influence  in  the  development  of  aesthetic 
sentiment,  or  at  least  as  a factor  in  deciding 
the  direction  and  expansion  of  that  develop- 
ment. But  for  poverty,  the  race  could  not 
have  discovered,  ages  ago,  the  secret  of  mak- 
ing pleasure  the  commonest  instead  of  the 
costliest  of  experiences,  — the  divine  art  of 
creating  the  beautiful  out  of  nothing  ! 

One  explanation  of  this  cheapness  is  the 
capacity  of  the  people  to  find  in  everything 
natural  — in  landscapes,  mists,  clouds,  sun- 
sets, — in  the  sight  of  birds,  insects,  and 
flowers  — a much  keener  pleasure  than  we, 
as  the  vividness  of  their  artistic  presentations 


NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO  61 


of  visual  experience  bears  witness.  Another 
explanation  is  that  the  national  religions  and 
the  old-fashioned  education  have  so  developed 
imaginative  power  that  it  can  be  stirred  into 
an  activity  of  delight  by  anything,  however 
trifling,  able  to  suggest  the  traditions  or  the 
legends  of  the  past. 

Perhaps  Japanese  cheap  pleasures  might  be 
broadly  divided  into  those  of  time  and  place 
furnished  by  nature  with  the  help  of  man,  and 
those  of  time  and  place  invented  by  man  at 
the  suggestion  of  nature.  The  former  class 
can  be  found  in  every  province,  and  yearly 
multiply.  Some  locality  is  chosen  on  hill  or 
coast,  by  lake  or  river:  gardens  are  made, 
trees  planted,  resting-houses  built  to  command 
the  finest  points  of  view  ; and  the  wild  site  is 
presently  transformed  into  a place  of  pilgrim- 
age for  pleasure-seekers.  One  spot  is  famed 
for  cherry-trees,  another  for  maples,  another 
for  wistaria  ; and  each  of  the  seasons  — even 
snowy  winter  — helps  to  make  the  particular 
beauty  of  some  resort.  The  sites  of  the  most 
celebrated  temples,  or  at  least  of  the  greater 
number  of  them,  were  thus  selected,  — always 
where  the  beauty  of  nature  could  inspire  and 


62  NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO 


aid  the  work  of  the  religious  architect,  and 
where  it  still  has  power  to  make  many  a one 
wish  that  he  could  become  a Buddhist  or 
Shinto  priest.  Religion,  indeed,  is  every- 
where in  Japan  associated  with  famous  scen- 
ery : with  landscapes,  cascades,  peaks,  rocks, 
islands  ; with  the  best  places  from  which  to 
view  the  blossoming  of  flowers,  the  reflection 
of  the  autumn  moon  on  water,  or  the  spark- 
ling of  fireflies  on  summer  nights. 

Decorations,  illuminations,  street  displays 
of  every  sort,  but  especially  those  of  holy 
days,  compose  a large  part  of  the  pleasures 
of  city  life  which  all  can  share.  The  ap- 
peals thus  made  to  jesthetic  fancy  at  festi- 
vals represent  the  labor,  perhaps,  of  tens  of 
thousands  of  hands  and  brains  ; but  each  in- 
dividual contributor  to  the  public  effort  works 
according  to  his  particular  thought  and  taste, 
even  while  obeying  old  rules,  so  that  the  total 
ultimate  result  is  a wondrous,  a bewildering, 
an  incalculable  variety.  Anybody  can  con- 
tribute to  such  an  occasion  ; and  everybody 
does,  for  the  cheapest  material  is  used. 
Paper,  straw,  or  stone  makes  no  real  differ- 
ence : the  art  sense  is  superbly  independent 


NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO  63 


of  the  material.  What  shapes  that  material 
is  perfect  comprehension  of  something  natu- 
ral, something  real.  Whether  a blossom 
made  of  chicken  feathers,  a clay  turtle  or 
duck  or  sparrow,  a pasteboard  cricket  or  man- 
tis or  frog,  the  idea  is  fully  conceived  and 
exactly  realized.  Spiders  of  mud  seem  to  be 
spinning  webs ; butterflies  of  paper  delude 
the  eye.  No  models  are  needed  to  work 
from  ; — or  rather,  the  model  in  every  case  is 
only  the  precise  memory  of  the  object  or  liv- 
ing fact.  I asked  at  a doll-maker’s  for  twenty 
tiny  paper  dolls,  each  with  a different  coiffure, 
— the  whole  set  to  represent  the  principal 
Kyoto  styles  of  dressing  women’s  hair.  A 
girl  went  to  work  with  white  paper,  paint, 
paste,  thin  slips  of  pine  ; and  the  dolls  were 
finished  in  about  the  same  time  that  an  artist 
would  have  taken  to  draw  a similar  number 
of  such  figures.  The  actual  time  needed  was 
only  enough  for  the  necessary  digital  move- 
ments, — not  for  correcting,  comparing,  im- 
proving : the  image  in  the  brain  realized 
itself  as  fast  as  the  slender  hands  could 
work.  Thus  most  of  the  wonders  of  festival 
nights  are  created : toys  thrown  into  existence 


64  NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO 


with  a twist  of  the  fingers,  old  rags  turned 
into  figured  draperies  with  a few  motions  of 
the  brush,  pictures  made  with  sand.  The 
same  power  of  enchantment  puts  human  grace 
under  contribution.  Children  who  on  other 
occasions  would  attract  no  attention  are  con- 
verted into  fairies  by  a few  deft  touches  of 
paint  and  powder,  and  costumes  devised  for 
artificial  light.  Artistic  sense  of  line  and 
color  suffices  for  any  transformation.  The 
tones  of  decoration  are  never  of  chance,  but 
of  knowledge : even  the  lantern  illuminations 
prove  this  fact,  certain  tints  only  being  used 
in  combination.  But  the  whole  exhibition  is 
as  evanescent  as  it  is  wonderful.  It  vanishes 
much  too  quickly  to  be  found  fault  with.  It 
is  a mirage  that  leaves  you  marveling  and 
dreaming  for  a month  after  having  seen  it. 

Perhaps  one  inexhaustible  source  of  the 
contentment,  the  simple  happiness,  belonging 
to  Japanese  common  life  is  to  be  found  in 
this  universal  cheapness  of  pleasure.  The 
delight  of  the  eyes  is  for  everybody.  Not 
the  seasons  only  nor  the  festivals  furnish 
enjoyment:  almost  any  quaint  street,  any 


NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO  65 


truly  Japanese  interior,  can  give  real  pleas- 
ure to  the  poorest  servant  who  works  with- 
out wages.  The  beautiful,  or  the  suggestion 
of  the  beautiful,  is  free  as  air.  Besides,  no 
man  or  woman  can  be  too  poor  to  own  some- 
thing pretty ; no  child  need  be  without  de- 
lightful toys.  Conditions  in  the  Occident  are 
otherwise.  In  our  great  cities,  beauty  is  for 
the  rich ; bare  walls  and  foul  pavements  and 
smoky  skies  for  our  poor,  and  the  tumult  of 
hideous  machinery,  — a hell  of  eternal  ugli- 
ness and  joylessness  invented  by  our  civiliza- 
tion to  punish  the  atrocious  crime  of  being 
unfortunate,  or  weak,  or  stupid,  or  overcon- 
fident in  the  morality  of  one’s  fellow-man. 

VI 

When  I went  out,  next  morning,  to  view 
the  great  procession,  the  streets  were  packed 
so  full  of  people  that  it  seemed  impossible 
for  anybody  to  go  anywhere.  Nevertheless, 
all  were  moving,  or  rather  circulating;  there 
was  a universal  gliding  and  slipping,  as  of 
fish  in  a shoal.  I find  no  difficulty  in  get- 
ting through  the  apparently  solid  press  of 
heads  and  shoulders  to  the  house  of  a friendly 


66  NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO 


merchant,  about  half  a mile  away.  How  any 
crowd  could  be  packed  so  closely,  and  yet 
move  so  freely,  is  a riddle  to  which  J apanese 
character  alone  can  furnish  the  key.  I was 
not  once  rudely  jostled.  But  Japanese  crowds 
are  not  all  alike : there  are  some  through 
which  an  attempt  to  pass  would  be  attended 
with  unpleasant  consequences.  Of  course  the 
yielding  fluidity  of  any  concourse  is  in  pro- 
portion to  its  gentleness ; but  the  amount  of 
that  gentleness  in  Japan  varies  greatly  ac- 
cording to  locality.  In  the  central  and  east- 
ern provinces  the  kindliness  of  a crowTd  seems 
to  he  proportionate  to  its  inexperience  of 
“ the  new  civilization.”  This  vast  gathering, 
of  probably  not  less  than  a million  persons, 
was  astonishingly  good-natured  and  good-hu- 
mored, because  the  majority  of  those  com- 
posing it  were  simple  country  folk.  When 
the  police  finally  made  a lane  for  the  pro- 
cession, the  multitude  at  once  arranged  itself 
in  the  least  egotistical  manner  possible, — 
little  children  to  the  front,  adults  to  the  rear. 

Though  announced  for  nine  o’clock,  the 
procession  did  not  appear  till  nearly  eleven ; 
and  the  long  waiting  in  those  densely  packed 


NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO  67 


streets  must  have  been  a strain  even  upon 
Buddhist  patience.  I was  kindly  given  a 
kneeling-cushion  in  the  front  room  of  the 
merchant’s  house ; but  although  the  cushion 
was  of  the  softest  and  the  courtesy  shown 
me  of  the  sweetest,  I became  weary  of  the 
immobile  posture  at  last,  and  went  out  into 
the  crowd,  where  I could  vary  the  experience 
of  waiting  by  standing  first  on  one  foot,  and 
then  on  the  other.  Before  thus  deserting  my 
post,  however,  I had  the  privilege  of  seeing 
some  very  charming  Kyoto  ladies,  including 
a princess,  among  the  merchant’s  guests. 
Kyoto  is  famous  for  the  beauty  of  its  wo- 
men ; and  the  most  charming  Japanese  woman 
I ever  saw  was  in  that  house,  — not  the  prin- 
cess, but  the  shy  young  bride  of  the  mer- 
chant’s eldest  son.  That  the  proverb  about 
beauty  being  only  skin-deep  “ is  but  a skin- 
deep  saying  ” Herbert  Spencer  has  amply 
proved  by  the  laws  of  physiology ; and  the 
same  laws  show  that  grace  has  a much  more 
profound  significance  than  beauty.  The  charm 
of  the  bride  was  just  that  rare  form  of  grace 
which  represents  the  economy  of  force  in  the 
whole  framework  of  the  physical  structure,  — 


68  NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO 


the  grace  that  startles  when  first  seen,  and 
appears  more  and  more  wonderful  every  time 
it  is  again  looked  at.  It  is  very  seldom  in- 
deed that  one  sees  in  Japan  a pretty  woman 
who  would  look  equally  pretty  in  another  than 
her  own  beautiful  national  attire.  What  we 
usually  call  grace  in  J apauese  women  is  dainti- 
ness of  form  and  manner  rather  than  what 
a Greek  would  have  termed  grace.  In  this 
instance,  one  felt  assured  that  long,  light, 
slender,  fine,  faultlessly  knit  figure  would 
ennoble  any  costume : there  was  just  that 
suggestion  of  pliant  elegance  which  the  sight 
of  a young  bamboo  gives  when  the  wind  is 
blowing. 

To  describe  the  procession  in  detail  would 
needlessly  tire  the  reader ; and  I shall  venture 
only  a few  general  remarks.  The  purpose  of 
the  pageant  was  to  represent  the  various  offi- 
cial and  military  styles  of  dress  worn  during 
the  great  periods  of  the  history  of  Kyoto, 
from  the  time  of  its  foundation  in  the  eighth 
century  to  the  present  era  of  Meiji,  and  also 
the  chief  military  personages  of  that  history. 
At  least  two  thousand  persons  marched  in  the 


NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO  69 


procession,  figuring  daimyo,  kuge,  liatamoto, 
samurai,  retainers,  carriers,  musicians,  and 
dancers.  The  dancers  were  impersonated  by- 
geisha;  and  some  were  attired  so  as  to  look 
like  butterflies  with  big  gaudy  wings.  All 
the  armor  and  the  weapons,  the  ancient  head- 
dresses and  robes,  were  veritable  relics  of  the 
past,  lent  for  the  occasion  by  old  families, 
by  professional  curio-dealers,  and  by  private 
collectors.  The  great  captains  — Oda  Nobu- 
naga,  Kato  Iviyomasa,  Iyeyasu,  Hideyoshi  — 
were  represented  according  to  tradition ; a 
really  monkey-faced  man  having  been  found 
to  play  the  part  of  the  famous  Taiko. 

While  these  visions  of  dead  centuries  were 
passing  by,  the  people  kept  perfectly  silent,  — 
which  fact,  strange  as  the  statement  may  seem 
to  Western  readers,  indicated  extreme  pleas- 
ure. It  is  not  really  in  accordance  with  na- 
tional sentiment  to  express  applause  by  noisy 
demonstration,  — by  shouting  and  clapping  of 
hands,  for  example.  Even  the  military  cheer 
is  an  importation  ; and  the  tendency  to  bois- 
terous demonstrativeness  in  Tokyo  is  proba- 
bly as  factitious  as  it  is  modern.  I remember 
two  impressive  silences  in  Kobe  during  1895. 


70  NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO 


The  first  was  on  the  occasion  of  an  imperial 
visit.  There  was  a vast  crowd ; the  foremost 
ranks  knelt  down  as  the  Emperor  passed ; but 
there  was  not  even  a whisper.  The  second 
remarkable  silence  was  on  the  return  of  the 
victorious  troops  from  China,  who  marched 
under  the  triumphal  arches  erected  to  wel- 
come them  without  hearing  a syllable  from 
the  people.  I asked  why,  and  was  answered, 
“We  Japanese  think  we  can  better  express 
our  feelings  by  silence.”  I may  here  observe, 
also,  that  the  sinister  silence  of  the  Japanese 
armies  before  some  of  the  late  engagements 
terrified  the  clamorous  Chiuese  much  more 
than  the  first  opening  of  the  batteries.  De- 
spite exceptions,  it  may  be  stated  as  a general 
truth  that  the  deeper  the  emotion,  whether  of 
pleasure  or  of  pain,  and  the  more  solemn  or 
heroic  the  occasion,  in  Japan,  the  more  natu- 
rally silent  those  who  feel  or  act. 

Some  foreign  spectators  criticised  the  dis- 
play as  spiritless,  and  commented  on  the  unhe- 
roic port  of  the  great  captains  and  the  undis- 
guised fatigue  of  their  followers,  oppressed 
under  a scorching  sun  by  the  unaccustomed 
weight  of  armor.  But  to  the  Japanese  all 


NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO  71 


this  only  made  the  pageant  seem  more  real; 
and  I fully  agreed  with  them.  As  a matter 
of  fact,  the  greatest  heroes  of  military  history 
have  appeared  at  their  best  in  exceptional  mo- 
ments only ; the  stoutest  veterans  have  known 
fatigue ; and  undoubtedly  Nobunaga  and  Hi- 
deyoshi  and  Ivato  Kiyomasa  must  have  more 
than  once  looked  just  as  dusty,  and  ridden  or 
marched  just  as  wearily,  as  their  representa- 
tives in  the  Kyoto  procession.  No  merely 
theatrical  idealism  clouds,  for  any  educated 
Japanese,  the  sense  of  the  humanity  of  his 
country’s  greatest  men : on  the  contrary,  it 
is  the  historical  evidence  of  that  ordinary 
humanity  that  most  endears  them  to  the  com- 
mon heart,  and  makes  by  contrast  more  admir- 
able and  exemplary  all  of  the  inner  life  which 
was  not  ordinary. 

After  the  procession  I went  to  the  Dai- 
Kioku-Den,  the  magnificent  memorial  Shinto 
temple  built  by  the  government,  and  described 
in  a former  book.  On  displaying  my  medal 
I was  allowed  to  pay  reverence  to  the  spirit 
of  good  Kwammu-Tenno,  and  to  drink  a little 
rice  wine  in  his  honor,  out  of  a new  wine-cup 


72  NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO 


of  pure  white  clay  presented  by  a lovely  child- 
miko.  After  the  libation,  the  little  priestess 
packed  the  white  cup  into  a neat  wooden  box 
and  hade  me  take  it  home  for  a souvenir ; one 
new  cup  being  presented  to  every  purchaser 
of  a medal. 

Such  small  gifts  and  memories  make  up 
much  of  the  unique  pleasure  of  Japanese 
travel.  In  almost  any  town  or  village  you 
can  buy  for  a souvenir  some  pretty  or  curious 
thing  made  only  in  that  one  place,  and  not  to 
he  found  elsewhere.  Again,  in  many  parts  of 
the  interior  a trifling  generosity  is  certain  to 
be  acknowledged  by  a present,  which,  how- 
ever cheap,  will  seldom  fail  to  prove  a sur- 
prise and  a pleasure.  Of  all  the  things  which 
I picked  up  here  and  there,  in  traveling  about 
the  country,  the  prettiest  and  the  most  be- 
loved are  queer  little  presents  thus  obtained. 

VII 

I wanted,  before  leaving  Kyoto,  to  visit  the 
tomb  of  Yuko  Hatakeyama.  After  having 
vainly  inquired  of  several  persons  where  she 
was  buried,  it  occurred  to  me  to  ask  a Bud- 
dhist priest  who  had  come  to  the  hotel  on 


NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO  73 


some  parochial  business.  He  answered  at 
once,  “ In  the  cemetery  of  Makkeiji.”  Mak- 
keiji  was  a temple  not  mentioned  in  guide- 
books, and  situated  somewhere  at  the  outskirts 
of  the  city.  I took  a kuruma  forthwith,  and 
found  myself  at  the  temple  gate  after  about 
half  an  hour’s  run. 

A priest,  to  whom  I announced  the  purpose 
of  my  visit,  conducted  me  to  the  cemetery,  — 
a very  large  one,  — and  pointed  out  the  grave. 
The  sun  of  a cloudless  autumn  day  flooded 
everything  with  light,  and  tinged  with  spec- 
tral gold  the  face  of  a monument  on  which  I 
saw,  in  beautiful  large  characters  very  deeply 
cut,  the  girl’s  name,  with  the  Buddhist  prefix 
Retsvjo,  signifying  chaste  and  true,  — 

EETSUJO  HATAKEYAMA  YUKO  HAKA. 

The  grave  was  well  kept,  and  the  grass  had 
been  recently  trimmed.  A little  wooden  awn- 
ing erected  in  front  of  the  stone  sheltered  the 
offerings  of  flowers  and  sprays  of  shikimi,  and 
a cup  of  fresh  water.  I did  sincere  reverence 
to  the  heroic  and  unselfish  spirit,  and  pro- 
nounced the  customary  formula.  Some  other 
visitors,  I noticed,  saluted  the  spirit  after  the 


74  NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO 

Shinto  manner.  The  tombstones  were  so 
thickly  crowded  about  the  spot  that,  in  order 
to  see  the  back  of  the  monument,  I found  I 
should  have  to  commit  the  rudeness  of  step- 
ping on  the  grave.  But  I felt  sure  she  would 
forgive  me ; so,  treading  reverently,  I passed 
round,  and  copied  the  inscription : “ Yuko , of 
Nagasagori , Kamagawamachi  . . . from 
day  of  birth  always  good.  . . . Meiji , the 
twenty-fourth  year , the  fifth  month,  the  twen- 
tieth day  . . . cause  of  sorrow  the  country 
having  . . . the  Kyoto  government-house  to 
went  . . . and  her  own  throat  cut  . . . 
twenty  and  seven  years  . . . Tani  Tetsu- 
omi  made  . . . Kyotofolk-by  erected  this 
stone  is.”  The  Buddhist  Kaimyo  rea^l,  “ Gi- 
yu-in-ton-shv-chu-myb-kyo ,”  — apparently  sig- 
nifying, “ Right-meaning  and  valiant  woman, 
instantly  attaining  to  the  admirable  doctrine 
of  loyalty.” 

In  the  temple,  the  priest  showed  me  the 
relics  and  mementos  of  the  tragedy : a small 
Japanese  razor,  blood-crusted,  with  the  once 
white  soft  paper  thickly  wrapped  round  its 
handle  caked  into  one  hard  red  mass;  the 


NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO  75 


cheap  purse ; the  girdle  and  clothing,  blood- 
stiffened  (all  except  the  kimono,  washed  by 
order  of  the  police  before  having  been  given 
to  the  temple)  ; letters  and  memoranda ; pho- 
tographs, which  I secured,  of  Yuko  and  her 
tomb ; also  a photograph  of  the  gathering  in 
the  cemetery,  where  the  funeral  rites  were 
performed  by  Shinto  priests.  This  fact  inter- 
ested me ; for,  although  condoned  by  Bud- 
dhism, the  suicide  could  not  have  been  re- 
garded in  the  same  light  by  the  two  faiths. 
The  clothing  was  coarse  and  cheap : the  girl 
had  pawned  her  best  effects  to  cover  the  ex- 
penses of  her  journey  and  her  burial.  I 
bought  a little  book  containing  the  story  of 
her  life  and  death,  copies  of  her  last  letters, 
poems  written  about  her  by  various  persons,  — 
some  of  very  high  rank,  — and  a clumsy  por- 
trait. In  the  photographs  of  Yuko  and  her 
relatives  there  was  nothing  remarkable : such 
types  you  can  meet  with  every  day  and  any- 
where in  Japan.  The  interest  of  the  book 
was  psychological  only,  as  regarded  both  the 
author  and  the  subject.  The  printed  letters 
of  Yuko  revealed  that  strange  state  of  Japa- 
nese exaltation  in  which  the  mind  remains 


76  NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO 


capable  of  giving  all  possible  attention  to  the 
most  trivial  matters  of  fact,  while  the  terrible 
purpose  never  slackens.  The  memoranda  gave 
like  witness : — 

Meiji  twenty-fourth  year , fifth  month,  eighteenth  day. 

5 sen  to  kurumaya  from  Nikonbaslii  to  Uyeno. 

Nineteenth  day. 

5 sen  to  kurumaya  to  Asakusa  Umamachi. 

1 sen  5 rin  for  sharpening  something  to  hair-dresser  in 
Shitaya. 

10  yen  received  from  Sano,  the  pawnbroker  in  Baba. 

20  sen  for  train  to  Shinclio. 

1 yen  2 sen  for  train  from  Hama  to  Shidzuoka. 

Twentieth  day. 

2 yen  0 sen  for  train  from  Shidzuoka  to  Hama. 

6 sen  for  postage-stamps  for  two  letters. 

14  sen  in  Kiyomidzu. 

12  sen  5 rin  for  umbrella  given  to  kurumaya. 


But  in  strange  contrast  to  the  methodical 
faculty  thus  manifested  was  the  poetry  of  a 
farewell  letter,  containing  such  thoughts  as 
these : — 

“ The  eighty-eighth  night  ” [that  is,  from 
the  festival  of  the  Setsubun]  “ having  passed 
like  a dream,  ice  changed  itself  into  clear 
drops,  and  snow  gave  place  to  rain.  Then 
cherry-blossoms  came  to  please  everybody  ; but 


NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO  77 


now,  poor  things ! they  begin  to  fall  even  be- 
fore the  wind  touches  them.  Again  a little 
while,  and  the  wind  will  make  them  fly  through 
the  bright  air  in  the  pure  spring  weather.  Yet 
it  may  be  that  the  hearts  of  those  who  love  me 
will  not  be  bright,  will  feel  no  pleasant  spring. 
The  season  of  rains  will  come  next,  and  there 
will  be  no  joy  in  their  hearts.  . . . Oh ! what 
shall  I do  ? There  has  been  no  moment  in 
which  I have  not  thought  of  you.  . . . But  all 
ice,  all  snow,  becomes  at  last  free  water ; the 
incense  buds  of  the  kiku  will  open  even  in 
frost.  I pray  you,  think  later  about  these 
things.  . . . Even  now,  for  me,  is  the  time  of 
frost,  the  time  of  kiku  buds  : if  only  they  can 
blossom,  perhaps  I shall  please  you  much. 
Placed  in  this  world  of  sorrow,  but  not  to  stay, 
is  the  destiny  of  all.  I beseech  you,  think  me 
not  unfilial ; say  to  none  that  you  have  lost 
me,  that  I have  passed  into  the  darkness. 
Bather  wait  and  hope  for  the  fortunate  time 
that  shall  come.” 

The  editor  of  the  pamphlet  betrayed  rather 
too  much  of  the  Oriental  manner  of  judging 
woman,  even  while  showering  generous  praise 


78  NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO 


upon  one  typical  woman.  In  a letter  to  the 
authorities  Yuko  had  spoken  of  a family 
claim,  and  this  was  criticised  as  a feminine 
weakness.  She  had,  indeed,  achieved  the  ex- 
tinction of  personal  selfishness,  hut  she  had 
been  “ very  foolish  ” to  speak  about  her  fam- 
ily. In  some  other  ways  the  book  was  disap- 
pointing. Under  the  raw,  strong  light  of  its 
commonplace  revelations,  my  little  sketch, 
“ Yuko,”  written  in  1894,  seemed  for  the  mo- 
ment much  too  romantic.  And  yet  the  real 
poetry  of  the  event  remained  unlessened,  — 
the  pure  ideal  that  impelled  a girl  to  take  her 
own  life  merely  to  give  proof  of  the  love  and 
loyalty  of  a nation.  No  small,  mean,  dry  facts 
could  ever  belittle  that  large  fact. 

The  sacrifice  had  stirred  the  feelings  of  the 
nation  much  more  than  it  had  touched  my 
own.  Thousands  of  photographs  of  Yuko  and 
thousands  of  copies  of  the  little  book  about 
her  were  sold.  Multitudes  visited  her  tomb 
and  made  offerings  there,  and  gazed  with  ten- 
der reverence  at  the  relics  in  Makkeiji ; and 
all  this,  I thought,  for  the  best  of  reasons.  If 
commonplace  facts  are  repellent  to  what  we 
are  pleased,  in  the  West,  to  call  “ refined  feel- 


NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO  79 


ing,”  it  is  proof  that  the  refinement  is  fac- 
titious and  the  feeling  shallow.  To  the 
Japanese,  who  recognize  that  the  truth  of 
beauty  belongs  to  the  inner  being,  common- 
place details  are  precious  : they  help  to  ac- 
centuate and  verify  the  conception  of  a heroism. 
Those  poor  blood-stained  trifles  — the  coarse 
honest  robes  and  girdle,  the  little  cheap  purse, 
the  memoranda  of  a visit  to  the  pawnbroker, 
the  glimpses  of  plain,  humble,  every-day  hu- 
manity shown  by  the  letters  and  the  photo- 
graphs and  the  infinitesimal  precision  of  police 
records  — all  serve,  like  so  much  ocular  evi- 
dence, to  perfect  the  generous  comprehension 
of  the  feeling  that  made  the  fact.  Had  Yuko 
been  the  most  beautiful  person  in  Japan,  and 
her  people  of  the  highest  rank,  the  meaning 
of  her  sacrifice  would  have  been  far  less  inti- 
mately felt.  In  actual  life,  as  a general  rule, 
it  is  the  common,  not  the  uncommon  person 
who  does  noble  things  ; and  the  people,  seeing 
best,  by  the  aid  of  ordinary  facts,  what  is 
heroic  in  one  of  their  own  class,  feel  them- 
selves honored.  Many  of  us  in  the  West  will 
have  to  learn  our  ethics  over  again  from  the 
common  people.  Our  cultivated  classes  have 


80  NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO 

lived  so  long  in  an  atmosphere  of  false  ideal- 
ism, mere  conventional  humbug,  that  the  real, 
warm,  honest  human  emotions  seem  to  them 
vulgar;  and  the  natural  and  inevitable  pun- 
ishment is  inability  to  see,  to  hear,  to  feel,  and 
to  think.  There  is  more  truth  in  the  little 
verse  poor  Yuko  wrote  on  the  back  of  her 
mirror  than  in  most  of  our  conventional  ideal- 
ism : — 

“ By  one  keeping  the  heart  free  from  stain , 
virtue  and  right  and  wrong  are  seen  clearly 
as  forms  in  a mirror .” 

VIII 

I returned  by  another  way,  through  a quar- 
ter which  I had  never  seen  before,  — all  tem- 
ples. A district  of  great  spaces,  — vast  and 
beautiful  and  hushed  as  by  enchantment.  No 
dwellings  or  shops.  Pale  yellow  walls  only, 
sloping  back  from  the  roadway  on  both  sides, 
like  fortress  walls,  but  coped  with  a coping  or 
rootlet  of  blue  tiles ; and  above  these  yellow 
sloping  walls  (pierced  with  elfish  gates  at 
long,  long  intervals),  great  soft  hilly  masses  of 
foliage  — cedar  and  pine  and  bamboo  — with 
superbly  curved  roofs  sweeping  up  through 


NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO  81 


them.  Each  vista  of  those  silent  streets  of 
temples,  bathed  in  the  gold  of  the  autumn  after- 
noon, gave  me  just  such  a thrill  of  pleasure  as 
one  feels  on  finding  in  some  poem  the  perfect 
utterance  of  a thought  one  has  tried  for  years 
in  vain  to  express. 

Yet  what  was  the  charm  made  with?  The 
wonderful  walls  were  but  painted  mud;  the 
gates  and  the  temples  only  frames  of  wood 
supporting  tiles ; the  shubbery,  the  stonework, 
the  lotos -ponds,  mere  landscape  - gardening. 
Nothing  solid,  nothing  enduring ; but  a com- 
bination so  beautiful  of  lines  and  colors  and 
shadows  that  no  speech  could  paint  it.  Nay ! 
even  were  those  earthen  walls  turned  into 
lemon  - colored  marble,  and  their  tiling  into 
amethyst ; even  were  the  material  of  the  tem- 
ples transformed  into  substance  precious  as 
that  of  the  palace  described  in  the  Sutra  of 
the  Great  King  of  Glory,  — still  the  aesthetic 
suggestion,  the  dreamy  repose,  the  mellow 
loveliness  and  softness  of  the  scene,  could  not 
be  in  the  least  enhanced.  Perhaps  it  is  just 
because  the  material  of  such  creation  is  so 
frail  that  its  art  is  so  marvelous.  The  most 
wonderful  architecture,  the  most  entrancing 


82  NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO 


landscapes,  are  formed  with  substance  the 
most  imponderable,  — the  substance  of  clouds. 

But  those  who  think  of  beauty  only  in  con- 
nection with  costliness,  with  stability,  with 
“ firm  reality,”  should  never  look  for  it  in  this 
land,  — well  called  the  Land  of  Sunrise,  for 
sunrise  is  the  hour  of  illusions.  Nothing  is 
more  lovely  than  a Japanese  village  among 
the  hills  or  by  the  coast  when  seen  just  after 
sunrise,  — through  the  slowly  lifting  blue 
mists  of  a spring  or  autumn  morning.  But 
for  the  matter-of-fact  observer,  the  enchant- 
ment passes  with  the  vapors  : in  the  raw,  clear 
light  he  can  find  no  palaces  of  amethyst,  no 
sails  of  gold,  but  only  flimsy  sheds  of  wood 
and  thatch  and  the  unpainted  queerness  of 
wooden  junks. 

So  perhaps  it  is  with  all  that  makes  life 
beautiful  in  any  land.  To  view  men  or  na- 
ture with  delight,  we  must  see  them  through 
illusions,  subjective  or  objective.  How  they 
appear  to  us  depends  upon  the  ethical  condi- 
tions within  us.  Nevertheless,  the  real  and 
the  unreal  are  equally  illusive  in  themselves. 
The  vulgar  and  the  rare,  the  seemingly  tran- 
sient and  the  seemingly  enduring,  are  all 


NOTES  OF  A TRIP  TO  KYOTO  83 


alike  mere  ghostliness.  Happiest  he  who, 
from  birth  to  death,  sees  ever  through  some 
beautiful  haze  of  the  soul,  — best  of  all,  that 
haze  of  love  which,  like  the  radiance  of  this 
Orient  day,  turns  common  things  to  gold. 


IV 


DUST 

“ Let  the  Bo&hisattva  look  upon  all  things  as  having  the 
nature  of  space,  — as  permanently  equal  to  space  ; without 
essence,  without  substantiality.”  — Saddharma-Punda- 
rika. 

I have  wandered  to  the  verge  of  tlie  town ; 
and  the  street  I followed  has  roughened  into  a 
country  road,  and  begins  to  curve  away  through 
rice-fields  toward  a hamlet  at  the  foot  of  the 
hills.  Between  town  and  rice-fields  a vague 
unoccupied  stretch  of  land  makes  a favorite 
playground  for  children.  There  are  ti’ees, 
and  spaces  of  grass  to  roll  on,  and  many  but- 
terflies, and  plenty  of  little  stones.  I stop  to 
look  at  the  children. 

By  the  roadside  some  are  amusing  them- 
selves with  wet  clay,  making  tiny  models  of 
mountains  and  rivers  and  rice-fields  ; tiny  mud 
villages,  also,  — imitations  of  peasants’  huts,  — 
and  little  mud  temples,  and  mud  gardens  with 


DUST 


85 


ponds  and  humped  bridges  and  imitations  of 
stone-lanterns  ( tord ) ; likewise  miniature  cem- 
eteries, with  bits  of  broken  stone  for  monu- 
ments. And  they  play  at  funerals,  — burying 
corpses  of  butterflies  and  semi  (cicadas),  and 
pretending  to  repeat  Buddhist  sutras  over  the 
grave.  To-morrow  they  will  not  dare  to  do 
this ; for  to-morrow  will  be  the  first  day  of 
the  festival  of  the  Dead.  During  that  festi- 
val it  is  strictly  forbidden  to  molest  insects, 
especially  semi,  some  of  which  have  on  their 
heads  little  red  characters  said  to  be  names  of 
Souls. 

Children  in  all  countries  play  at  death.  Be- 
fore the  sense  of  personal  identity  comes,  death 
cannot  be  seriously  considered ; and  childhood 
thinks  in  this  regard  more  correctly,  perhaps, 
than  self-conscious  maturity.  Of  course,  if 
these  little  ones  were  told,  some  bright  morn- 
ing, that  a playfellow  had  gone  away  forever, 
— gone  away  to  be  reborn  elsewhere,  — there 
would  be  a very  real  though  vague  sense  of 
loss,  and  much  wiping  of  eyes  with  many-col- 
ored sleeves ; but  presently  the  loss  would  be 
forgotten  and  the  playing  resumed.  The  idea 
of  ceasing  to  exist  could  not  possibly  enter 


86 


DUST 


a child-mind : the  butterflies  and  birds,  the 
flowers,  the  foliage,  the  sweet  summer  itself, 
only  play  at  dying;  — they  seem  to  go,  but 
they  all  come  back  again  after  the  snow  is 
gone.  The  real  sorrow  and  fear  of  death  arise 
in  us  only  through  slow  accumulation  of  expe- 
rience with  doubt  and  pain ; and  these  little 
boys  and  girls,  being  Japanese  and  Buddhists, 
will  never,  in  any  event,  feel  about  death  just 
as  you  or  I do.  They  will  find  reason  to 
fear  it  for  somebody  else’s  sake,  but  not  for 
their  own,  because  they  will  learn  that  they 
have  died  millions  of  times  already,  and  have 
forgotten  the  trouble  of  it,  much  as  one  for- 
gets the  pain  of  successive  toothaches.  In  the 
strangely  penetrant  light  of  their  creed,  teach- 
ing the  ghostliness  of  all  substance,  granite  or 
gossamer,  — just  as  those  lately  found  X-rays 
make  visible  the  ghostliness  of  flesh,  — this 
their  present  world,  with  its  bigger  mountains 
and  rivers  and  rice-fields,  will  not  appear  to 
them  much  more  real  than  the  mud  landscapes 
which  they  made  in  childhood.  And  much 
more  real  it  probably  is  not. 

At  which  thought  I am  conscious  of  a 
sudden  soft  shock,  a familiar  shock,  and  know 


DUST  87 

myself  seized  by  the  idea  of  Substance  as  Non- 
Reality. 

This  sense  of  the  voidness  of  things  comes 
only  when  the  temperature  of  the  air  is  so 
equably  related  to  the  temperature  of  life  that 
I can  forget  having  a body.  Cold  compels 
painful  notions  of  solidity ; cold  sharpens  the 
delusion  of  personality ; cold  quickens  ego- 
tism ; cold  numbs  thought,  and  shrivels  up  the 
little  wings  of  dreams. 

To-day  is  one  of  those  warm,  hushed  days 
when  it  is  possible  to  think  of  things  as  they 
are,  — when  ocean,  peak,  and  plain  seem  no 
more  real  than  the  arching  of  blue  emptiness 
above  them.  All  is  mirage,  — my  physical 
self,  and  the  sunlit  road,  and  the  slow  rippling 
of  the  grain  under  a sleepy  wind,  and  the 
thatched  roofs  beyond  the  haze  of  the  rice- 
fields,  and  the  blue  crumpling  of  the  naked 
hills  behind  everything.  I have  the  double 
sensation  of  being  myself  a ghost  and  of  being 
haunted,  — haunted  by  the  prodigious  lumi- 
nous Spectre  of  the  World. 

There  are  men  and  women  working  in  those 


88 


DUST 


fields.  Colored  moving  shadows  they  are  ; and 
the  earth  under  them  — out  of  which  they  rose, 
and  back  to  which  they  will  go  — is  equally 
shadow.  Only  the  Forces  behind  the  shadow, 
that  make  and  unmake,  are  real,  — therefore 
viewless. 

Somewhat  as  Night  devours  all  lesser  shadow 
will  this  phantasmal  earth  swallow  us  at  last, 
and  itself  thereafter  vanish  away.  But  the 
little  shadows  and  the  Shadow-Eater  must  as 
certainly  reappear,  — must  rematerialize  some- 
where and  somehow.  This  ground  beneath 
me  is  old  as  the  Milky  Way.  Call  it  what 
you  please,  — clay,  soil,  dust : its  names  are 
but  symbols  of  human  sensations  having  no- 
thing in  common  with  it.  Really  it  is  name- 
less and  unnamable,  being  a mass  of  energies, 
tendencies,  infinite  possibilities ; for  it  was 
made  by  the  beating  of  that  shoreless  Sea  of 
Birth  and  Death  whose  surges  billow  unseen 
out  of  eternal  Night  to  burst  in  foam  of  stars. 
Lifeless  it  is  not : it  feeds  upon  life,  and  visi- 
ble life  grows  out  of  it.  Dust  it  is  of  Karma, 
waiting  to  enter  into  novel  combinations, — 
dust  of  elder  Being  in  that  state  between  birth 
and  birth  which  the  Buddhist  calls  Chu-U. 


DUST 


89 


It  is  made  of  forces,  and  of  notliing  else ; and 
those  forces  are  not  of  this  planet  only,  hut  of 
vanished  spheres  innumerable. 

Is  there  aught  visible,  tangible,  measurable, 
that  has  never  been  mixed  with  sentiency  ? — 
atom  that  has  never  vibrated  to  pleasure  or  to 
pain  ? — air  that  has  never  been  cry  or  speech  ? 
— drop  that  has  never  been  a tear  ? Assur- 
edly this  dust  has  felt.  It  has  been  everything 
we  know  ; also  much  that  we  cannot  know. 
It  has  been  nebula  and  star,  planet  and  moon, 
times  unspeakable.  Deity  also  it  has  been,  — 
the  Sun-God  of  worlds  that  circled  and  wor- 
shiped in  other  aeons.  “ Remember , Man , 

thou  art  but  dust!  ” — a saying  profound  only 
as  materialism,  which  stops  short  at  surfaces. 
For  what  is  dust?  “Remember,  Dust,  thou 
hast  been  Sun,  and  Sun  thou  slialt  become 
again ! . . . Thou  hast  been  Light,  Life, 
Love  ; — and  into  all  these,  by  ceaseless  cos- 
mic magic,  thou  shalt  many  times  be  turned 
again ! ” 


For  this  Cosmic  Apparition  is  more  than 
evolution  alternating  with  dissolution : it  is 


90 


DUST 


infinite  metempsychosis ; it  is  perpetual  palin- 
genesis. Those  old  predictions  of  a bodily 
resurrection  were  not  falsehoods ; they  were 
rather  foreshadowings  of  a truth  vaster  than 
all  myths  and  deeper  than  all  religions. 

Suns  yield  up  their  ghosts  of  flame ; but  out 
of  their  graves  new  suns  rush  into  being. 
Corpses  of  worlds  pass  all  to  some  solar  fu- 
neral pyre ; but  out  of  their  own  ashes  they 
are  born  again.  This  earth  must  die  : her 
seas  shall  be  Saharas.  But  those  seas  once 
existed  in  the  sun  ; and  their  dead  tides,  re- 
vived by  fire,  will  pour  their  thunder  upon  the 
coasts  of  another  world.  Transmigration  — 
transmutation  : these  are  not  fables ! What 
is  impossible  ? Not  the  dreams  of  alchemists 
and  poets  ; — dross  may  indeed  be  changed  to 
gold,  the  jewel  to  the  living  eye,  the  flower 
into  flesh.  What  is  impossible  ? If  seas  can 
pass  from  world  to  sun,  from  sun  to  world 
again,  what  of  the  dust  of  dead  selves,  — dust 
of  memory  and  thought  ? Resurrection  there 
is,  — but  a resurrection  more  stupendous  than 
any  dreamed  of  by  Western  creeds.  Dead 
emotions  will  revive  as  surely  as  dead  suns 
and  moons.  Only,  so  far  as  we  can  just  now 


DUST 


91 


discern,  there  will  be  no  return  of  identical 
individualities.  The  reapparition  will  always 
be  a recombination  of  the  preexisting,  a read- 
justment of  affinities,  a reintegration  of  being 
informed  with  the  experience  of  anterior  be- 
ing. The  Cosmos  is  a Karma. 

Merely  by  reason  of  illusion  and  folly  do  we 
shrink  from  the  notion  of  self-instability.  For 
what  is  our  individuality  ? Most  certainly  it 
is  not  individuality  at  all : it  is  multiplicity 
incalculable.  What  is  the  human  body  ? A 
form  built  up  out  of  billions  of  living  entities, 
an  impermanent  agglomeration  of  individuals 
called  cells.  And  the  human  soul  ? A com- 
posite of  quintillions  of  souls.  We  are,  each 
and  all,  infinite  compounds  of  fragments  of 
anterior  lives.  And  the  universal  process  that 
continually  dissolves  and  continually  constructs 
personality  has  always  been  going  on,  and  is 
even  at  this  moment  going  on,  in  every  one  of 
us.  What  being  ever  had  a totally  new  feel- 
ing, an  absolutely  new  idea?  All  our  emo- 
tions and  thoughts  and  wishes,  however  chang- 
ing and  growing  through  the  varying  seasons 
of  life,  are  only  compositions  and  recomposi- 


92  DUST 

tions  of  tlie  sensations  and  ideas  and  desires  of 
other  folk,  mostly  of  dead  people,  — millions 
of  billions  of  dead  people.  Cells  and  souls  are 
themselves  recombinations,  present  aggrega- 
tions of  past  knittings  of  forces,  — forces  about 
which  nothing  is  known  save  that  they  belong 
to  the  Shadow-Makers  of  universes. 

Whether  you  (by  you  I mean  any  other 
agglomeration  of  souls)  really  wish  for  im- 
mortality as  an  agglomeration,  I cannot  tell. 
But  I confess  that  “ my  mind  to  me  a king- 
dom is  ” — not ! Bather  it  is  a fantastical 
republic,  daily  troubled  by  more  revolutions 
than  ever  occurred  in  South  America ; and  the 
nominal  government,  supposed  to  be  rational, 
declares  that  an  eternity  of  such  anarchy  is 
not  desirable.  I have  souls  wanting  to  soar  in 
air,  and  souls  wanting  to  swim  in  water  (sea- 
w'ater,  I think),  and  souls  wanting  to  live  in 
woods  or  on  mountain  tops.  I have  souls 
longing  for  the  tumult  of  great  cities,  and 
souls  longing  to  dwell  in  tropical  solitude  ; — 
souls,  also,  in  various  stages  of  naked  sav- 
agery ; — souls  demanding  nomad  freedom 
without  tribute  ; — souls  conservative,  delicate, 
loyal  to  empire  and  to  feudal  tradition,  and 


DUST 


93 


souls  that  are  Nihilists,  deserving  Siberia ; — 
sleepless  souls,  hating  inaction,  and  hermit 
souls,  dwelling  in  such  meditative  isolation 
that  only  at  intervals  of  years  can  I feel 
them  moving  about ; — souls  that  have  faith 
in  fetiches ; — polytheistic  souls  ; — souls  pro- 
claiming Islam  ; — and  souls  mediaeval,  lov- 
ing cloister  shadow  and  incense  and  glimmer 
of  tapers  and  the  awful  altitude  of  Gothic 
glooms.  Cooperation  among  all  these  is  not 
to  be  thought  of : always  there  is  trouble,  — 
revolt,  confusion,  civil  war.  The  majority 
detest  this  state  of  things : multitudes  would 
gladly  emigrate.  And  the  wiser  minority  feel 
that  they  need  never  hope  for  better  condi- 
tions until  after  the  total  demolition  of  the 
existing  social  structure. 

I an  individual,  — an  individual  soul ! Nay, 
I am  a population,  — a population  unthinkable 
for  multitude,  even  by  groups  of  a thousand 
millions ! Generations  of  generations  I am, 
aeons  of  aeons ! Countless  times  the  concourse 
now  making  me  has  been  scattered,  and  mixed 
with  other  scatterings.  Of  what  concern,  then, 
the  next  disintegration?  Perhaps,  after  tril- 


94 


DUST 


lions  of  ages  of  burning  in  different  dynasties 
of  suns,  the  very  best  of  me  may  come  together 
again. 

If  one  could  only  imagine  some  explanation 
of  the  Why ! The  questions  of  the  Whence 
and  the  Whither  are  much  less  troublesome, 
since  the  Present  assures  us,  even  though 
vaguely,  of  Future  and  Past.  But  the  Why  ! 

The  cooing  voice  of  a little  girl  dissolves 
my  reverie.  She  is  trying  to  teach  a child 
brother  how  to  make  the  Chinese  character  for 
Man,  — I mean  Man  with  a big  M.  First  she 
draws  in  the  dust  a stroke  sloping  downwards 
from  right  to  left,  so : — 


then  she  draws  another  curving  downwards 
from  left  to  right,  thus  : — 


joining  the  two  so  as  to  form  the  perfect^,  or 
character,  liito,  meaning  a person  of  either  sex, 
or  mankind : — 


DUST 


95 


Then  she  tries  to  impress  the  idea  of  this  shape 
on  the  baby  memory  by  help  of  a practical 
illustration,  — probably  learned  at  school.  She 
breaks  a slip  of  wood  in  two  pieces,  and  man- 
ages to  balance  the  pieces  against  each  other 
at  about  the  same  angle  as  that  made  by  the 
two  strokes  of  the  character.  “ Now  see,”  slio 
says : “ each  stands  only  by  help  of  the  other. 
One  by  itself  cannot  stand.  Therefore  the  ji 
is  like  mankind.  Without  help  one  person 
cannot  live  in  this  world  ; but  by  getting  help 
and  giving  help  everybody  can  live.  If  no- 
body helped  anybody,  all  people  would  fall 
down  and  die.” 

This  explanation  is  not  pliilologically  exact ; 
the  two  strokes  evolutionally  standing  for  a 
pair  of  legs,  — all  that  survives  in  the  modern 
ideograph  of  the  whole  man  figured  in  the 
primitive  picture-writing.  But  the  pretty 
moral  fancy  is  much  more  important  than  the 
scientific  fact.  It  is  also  one  charming  exam- 
ple of  that  old-fashioned  method  of  teaching 
which  invested  every  form  and  every  incident 
with  ethical  signification.  Besides,  as  a mere 
item  of  moral  information,  it  contains  the 
essence  of  all  earthly  religion,  and  the  best 


96 


DUST 


part  of  all  earthly  philosophy.  A world- 
priestess  she  is,  this  dear  little  maid,  with  her 
dove’s  voice  and  her  innocent  gospel  of  one 
letter!  Verily  in  that  gospel  lies  the  only 
possible  present  answer  to  ultimate  problems. 
W ere  its  whole  meaning  universally  felt,  — 
were  its  whole  suggestion  of  the  spiritual  and 
material  law  of  love  and  help  universally 
obeyed,  — forthwith,  according  to  the  Ideal- 
ists, this  seemingly  solid  visible  world  would 
vanish  away  like  smoke ! For  it  has  been 
written  that  in  whatsoever  time  all  human 
minds  accord  in  thought  and  will  with  the 
mind  of  the  Teacher,  there  shall  not  remain 
even  one  particle  of  dust  that  does  not  enter 
into  Buddhahood. 


V 


ABOUT  FACES  IN  JAPANESE  ART 

I 

A vert  interesting  essay  upon  the  Japa- 
nese art  collections  in  the  National  Library 
was  read  by  Mr.  Edward  Strange  at  a meet- 
ing of  the  Japan  Society  held  last  year  in 
London.  Mr.  Strange  proved  his  apprecia- 
tion of  Japanese  art  by  an  exposition  of  its 
principles,  — the  subordination  of  detail  to 
the  expression  of  a sensation  or  idea,  the  sub- 
ordination of  the  particular  to  the  general. 
He  spoke  especially  of  the  decorative  element 
in  Japanese  art,  and  of  the  Ukiyo-ye  school 
of  color-printing.  He  remarked  that  even 
the  heraldry  of  Japan,  as  illustrated  in  little 
books  costing  only  a few  pence  each,  con- 
tained “ an  education  in  the  planning  of 
conventional  ornament.”  He  referred  to  the 
immense  industrial  value  of  Japanese  stencil 
designs.  He  tried  to  explain  the  nature  of 


98  ABOUT  FACES  IN  JAPANESE  ART 


the  advantage  likely  to  be  gained  in  the  art 
of  book  illustration  from  the  careful  study  of 
Japanese  methods;  and  he  indicated  the  influ- 
ence of  those  methods  in  the  work  of  such 
artists  as  Aubrey  Beardsley,  Edgar  Wilson, 
Steinlen  Ibels,  Whistler,  Grasset,  Cheret, 
and  Lantrec.  Finally,  he  pointed  out  the 
harmony  between  certain  Japanese  principles 
and  the  doctrines  of  one  of  the  modern  West- 
ern schools  of  Impressionism. 

Such  an  address  could  hardly  fail  to  pro- 
voke adverse  criticism  in  England,  because  it 
suggested  a variety  of  new  ideas.  English 
opinion  does  not  prohibit  the  importation  of 
ideas : the  public  will  even  complain  if  fresh 
ideas  be  not  regularly  set  before  it.  But  its 
requirement  of  them  is  aggressive  : it  wants 
to  have  an  intellectual  battle  over  them.  To 
persuade  its  unquestioning  acceptance  of  new 
beliefs  or  thoughts,  — to  coax  it  to  jump  to 
a conclusion,  — were  about  as  easy  as  to 
make  the  mountains  skip  like  rams.  Though 
willing  to  be  convinced,  providing  the  idea 
does  not  appear  “ morally  dangerous,”  it  must 
first  be  assured  of  the  absolute  correctness  of 
every  step  in  the  mental  process  by  which  the 


ABOUT  FACES  IN  JAPANESE  ART  99 

novel  conclusion  has  been  reached.  That  Mr. 
Strange’s  just  but  almost  enthusiastic  admi- 
ration of  Japanese  art  could  pass  without  chal- 
lenge was  not  possible  ; yet  one  would  scarcely 
have  anticipated  a challenge  from  the  ranks 
of  the  Japan  Society  itself.  The  report,  how- 
ever, shows  that  Mr.  Strange’s  views  were 
received  even  by  that  society  in  the  character- 
istic English  way.  The  idea  that  English 
artists  could  learn  anything  important  from 
the  study  of  Japanese  methods  was  practically 
pooh-poohed ; and  the  criticisms  made  by  vari- 
ous members  indicated  that  the  philosophic 
part  of  the  paper  had  been  either  misunder- 
stood or  unnoticed.  One  gentleman  inno- 
cently complained  that  he  could  not  imagine 
“ why  Japanese  art  should  be  utterly  wanting 
in  facial  expression.”  Another  declared  that 
there  could  never  have  been  any  lady  like 
the  ladies  of  the  Japanese  prints ; and  he  de- 
scribed the  faces  therein  portrayed  as  “ abso- 
lutely insane.” 

Then  came  the  most  surprising  incident  of 
the  evening,  — the  corroboration  of  these  ad- 
verse criticisms  by  his  excellency  the  Japa- 
nese Minister,  with  the  apologetic  remark  that 


100  ABOUT  FACES  IN  JAPANESE  ART 


the  prints  referred  to  “ were  only  regarded  as 
common  things  in  Japan.”  Common  things! 
Common,  perhaps,  in  the  judgment  of  other 
generations  ; aesthetic  luxuries  to-day.  The 
artists  named  were  Hokusai,  Toyokuni,  Hiro- 
shige, Kuniyoshi,  Kunisada  ! But  his  excel- 
lency seemed  to  think  the  subject  trifling  ; for 
he  took  occasion  to  call  away  the  attention  of 
the  meeting,  irrelevantly  as  patriotically,  to 
the  triumphs  of  the  war.  In  this  he  reflected 
faithfully  the  Japanese  Zeitgeist,  which  can 
scarcely  now  endure  the  foreign  praise  of  Jap- 
anese art.  Unfortunately,  those  dominated 
by  the  just  and  natural  martial  pride  of  the 
hour  do  not  reflect  that  while  the  development 
and  maintenance  of  great  armaments  — unless 
effected  with  the  greatest  economical  caution 
— might  lead  in  short  order  to  national  bank- 
ruptcy, the  future  industrial  prosperity  of  the 
country  is  likely  to  depend  in  no  small  degree 
upon  the  conservation  and  cultivation  of  the 
national  art  sense.  Nay,  those  very  means 
by  which  Japan  won  her  late  victories  were 
largely  purchased  by  the  commercial  results 
of  that  very  art  sense  to  which  his  excellency 
seemed  to  attach  no  importance.  Japan  must 


ABOUT  FACES  IN  JAPANESE  ART  101 


continue  to  depend  upon  her  sesthetic  faculty, 
even  in  so  commonplace  a field  of  industry  as 
the  manufacture  of  mattings ; for  in  mere 
cheap  production  she  will  never  he  able  to 
undersell  China. 


n 

Although  the  criticisms  provoked  by  Mr. 
Strange’s  essay  were  unjust  to  Japanese  art, 
they  wrere  natural,  and  indicated  nothing 
worse  than  ignorance  of  that  art  and  miscom- 
prehension of  its  purpose.  It  is  not  an  art  of 
which  the  meaning  can  he  read  at  a glance  : 
years  of  study  are  necessary  for  a right  com- 
prehension of  it.  I cannot  pretend  that  I 
have  mastered  the  knowledge  of  its  moods 
and  tenses,  but  I can  say  truthfully  that  the 
faces  in  the  old  picture-books  and  in  the 
cheap  prints  of  to-day,  especially  those  of 
the  illustrated  Japanese  newspapers,  do  not 
seem  to  me  in  the  least  unreal,  much  less 
“ absolutely  insane.”  There  was  a time  when 
they  did  appear  to  me  fantastic.  Now  I find 
them  always  interesting,  occasionally  beauti- 
ful. If  I am  told  that  no  other  European 
would  say  so,  then  I must  declare  all  other 


102  ABOUT  FACES  IN  JAPANESE  ART 


Europeans  wrong.  I feel  sure  that,  if  these 
faces  seem  to  most  Occidentals  either  absurd 
or  soidless,  it  is  only  because  most  Occidentals 
do  not  understand  them ; and  even  if  his  ex- 
cellency the  Japanese  Minister  to  England  be 
willing  to  accept  the  statement  that  no  Japa- 
nese women  ever  resembled  the  women  of  the 
Japanese  picture-books  and  cheap  prints,  I 
must  still  refuse  to  do  so.1  Those  pictures, 
I contend,  are  true,  and  reflect  intelligence, 
grace,  and  beauty.  I see  the  women  of  the 
Japanese  picture  - books  in  every  J apanese 
street.  I have  beheld  in  actual  life  almost 
every  normal  type  of  face  to  be  found  in  a 
Japanese  .picture-book  : the  child  and  the  girl, 
the  bride  and  the  mother,  the  matron  and  the 
grandparent ; poor  and  rich  ; charming  or 
commonplace  or  vulgar.  If  I am  told  that 

1 That  Japanese  art  is  capable  of  great  things  in  ideal 
facial  expression  is  sufficiently  proved  by  its  Buddhist 
images.  In  ordinary  prints  the  intentional  conventionalism 
of  .the  faces  is  hardly  noticeable  wlien  the  drawing  is  upon 
a small  scale  ; and  the  suggestion  of  beauty  is  more  readily 
perceived  in  such  cases.  But  when  the  drawing  has  a cer- 
tain dimension,  — when  the  face-oval,  for  instance,  has  a 
diameter  of  more  than  an  inch,  — the  same  treatment  may 
seem  inexplicable  to  eyes  accustomed  to  elaborated  detail. 


ABOUT  FACES  IN  JAPANESE  ART  103 


trained  art  critics  who  have  lived  in  Japan 
laugh  at  this  assertion,  I reply  that  they  can- 
not have  lived  in  Japan  long  enough,  or  felt 
her  life  intimately  enough,  or  studied  her  art 
impartially  enough,  to  qualify  themselves  to 
understand  even  the  commonest  Japanese 
drawing. 

Before  I came  to  Japan  I used  to  be  puz- 
zled by  the  absence  of  facial  expression  in 
certain  Japanese  pictures.  I confess  that  the 
faces,  although  not  even  then  devoid  of  a cer- 
tain weird  charm,  seemed  to  me  impossible. 
Afterwards,  during  the  first  two  years  of  Far- 
Eastern  experience,  — that  period  in  which 
the  stranger  is  apt  to  imagine  that  he  is  learn- 
ing all  about  a people  whom  no  Occidental 
can  ever  really  understand,  — I could  recog- 
nize the  grace  and  truth  of  certain  forms,  and 
feel  something  of  the  intense  charm  of  color 
in  Japanese  prints ; but  I had  no  perception 
of  the  deeper  meaning  of  that  art.  Even  the 
full  significance  of  its  color  I did  not  know : 
much  that  was  simply  true  I then  thought 
outlandish.  While  conscious  of  the  charm  of 
many  things,  the  reason  of  the  charm  I could 
not  guess.  X imagined  the  apparent  conven- 


104  ABOUT  FACES  IN  JAPANESE  ART 

tionalism  of  the  faces  to  indicate  the  arrested 
development  of  an  otherwise  marvelous  art 
faculty.  It  never  occurred  to  me  that  they 
might  be  conventional  only  in  the  sense  of 
symbols  which,  once  interpreted,  would  reveal 
more  than  ordinary  Western  drawing  can  ex- 
press. But  this  was  because  I still  remained 
under  old  barbaric  influences,  — influences 
that  blinded  me  to  the  meaning  of  Japanese 
drawing.  And  now,  having  at  last  learned 
a little,  it  is  the  Western  art  of  illustration 
that  appears  to  me  conventional,  undeveloped, 
semi-barbarous.  The  pictoi’ial  attractions  of 
English  weeklies  and  of  American  magazines 
now  impress  me  as  flat,  coarse,  and  clumsy. 
My  opinion  on  the  subject,  however,  is  limited 
to  the  ordinary  class  of  Western  illustration 
as  compared  with  the  ordinary  class  of  Japa- 
nese prints. 

Perhaps  somebody  will  say  that,  even  grant- 
ing my  assertion,  the  meaning  of  any  true  art 
should  need  no  interpretation,  and  that  the 
inferior  character  of  Japanese  work  is  pi’oved 
by  the  admission  that  its  meaning  is  not  uni- 
versally i*ecognizable.  Whoever  makes  such 
a criticism  must  imagine  Western  art  to  be 


ABOUT  FACES  IN  JAPANESE  ART  105 


everywhere  equally  intelligible.  Some  of  it 
— the  very  best  — probably  is ; and  some  of 
Japanese  art  also  is.  But  I can  assure  the 
reader  that  the  ordinary  art  of  Western  book 
illustration  or  magazine  engraving  is  just  as 
incomprehensible  to  Japanese  as  Japanese 
drawings  are  to  Europeans  who  have  never 
seen  Japan.  For  a Japanese  to  understand 
our  common  engravings,  he  must  have  lived 
abroad.  For  an  Occidental  to  perceive  the 
truth,  or  the  beauty,  or  the  humor  of  Japa- 
nese drawings,  he  must  know  the  life  which 
those  drawings  reflect. 

One  of  the  critics  at  the  meeting  of  the 
Japan  Society  found  fault  with  the  absence 
of  facial  expression  in  Japanese  drawing  as 
conventional.  He  compared  J apanese  art  on 
this  ground  with  the  art  of  the  old  Egyptians, 
and  held  both  inferior  because  restricted  by 
convention.  Yet  surely  the  age  which  makes 
Laocoon  a classic  ought  to  recognize  that 
Greek  art  itself  was  not  free  from  conven- 
tions. It  was  an  art  which  we  can  scarcely 
hope  ever  to  equal ; but  it  was  more  conven- 
tional than  any  existing  form  of  art.  And 
since  it  proved  that  even  the  divine  could  find 


106  ABOUT  FACES  IN  JAPANESE  ART 


development  witliin  the  limits  of  artistic  con- 
vention, the  charge  of  formality  is  not  a 
charge  worth  making  against  Japanese  art. 
Somebody  may  respond  that  Greek  conven- 
tions were  conventions  of  beauty,  while  those 
of  Japanese  drawing  have  neither  beauty  nor 
meaning.  But  such  a statement  is  possible 
only  because  Japanese  art  has  not  yet  found 
its  Winckelmann  nor  its  Lessing,  whereas 
Greek  art,  by  the  labor  of  generations  of 
modern  critics  and  teachers,  has  been  made 
somewhat  more  comprehensible  to  us  than  it 
could  have  been  to  our  barbarian  forefathers. 
The  Greek  conventional  face  cannot  be  found 
in  real  life,  no  living  head  presenting  so  large 
a facial  angle;  but  the  Japanese  conventional 
face  can  be  seen  everywhere,  when  once  the 
real  value  of  its  symbol  in  art  is  properly 
understood.  The  face  of  Greek  art  repre- 
sents an  impossible  perfection,  a superhuman 
evolution.  The  seemingly  inexpressive  face 
drawn  by  the  Japanese  artists  represents  the 
living,  the  actual,  the  every-day.  The  former 
is  a dream ; the  latter  is  a common  fact. 


ABOUT  FACES  IN  JAPANESE  ART  107 


III 

A partial  explanation  of  tlie  apparent  phy- 
siognomical conventionalism  in  Japanese 
drawing  is  just  that  law  of  the  subordination 
of  individualism  to  type,  of  personality  to 
humanity,  of  detail  to  feeling,  which  the  mis- 
comprehended lecturer,  Mr.  Edward  Strange, 
vainly  tried  to  teach  the  Japan  Society  some- 
thing about.  The  Japanese  artist  depicts  an 
insect,  for  example,  as  no  European  artist  can 
do : he  makes  it  live  ; he  shows  its  peculiar 
motion,  its  character,  everything  by  which  it 
is  at  once  distinguished  as  a type,  — and  all 
this  with  a few  brush-strokes.  But  he  does 
not  attempt  to  represent  every  vein  upon  each 
of  its  wings,  every  separate  joint  of  its  an- 
tennae : 1 he  depicts  it  as  it  is  really  seen  at  a 
glance,  not  as  studied  in  detail.  We  never 
see  all  the  details  of  the  body  of  a grasshop- 
per, a butterfly,  or  a bee,  in  the  moment  that 
we  perceive  it  perching  somewhere  ; we  ob- 

1 Unless  he  carves  it.  In  that  case,  his  insect  — cut  in 
hone  or  horn  or  ivory,  and  appropriately  colored  — can 
sometimes  scarcely  be  distinguished  from  a real  insect,  ex- 
cept by  its  weight,  when  held  in  the  hand.  Such  absolute 
realism,  however,  is  only  curious,  not  artistic. 


108  ABOUT  FACES  IN  JAPANESE  ART 


serve  only  enough  to  enable  us  to  decide  what 
kind  of  a creature  it  is.  We  see  the  typical, 
never  the  individual  peculiarities.  Therefore 
the  Japanese  artist  paints  the  type  alone. 
To  reproduce  every  detail  would  be  to  subor- 
dinate the  type  character  to  the  individual 
peculiarity.  A very  minute  detail  is  rarely 
brought  out  except  when  the  instant  recog- 
nition of  the  type  is  aided  by  the  recognition 
of  the  detail ; as,  for  example,  when  a ray  of 
light  happens  to  fall  upon  the  joint  of  a crick- 
et’s leg,  or  to  reverberate  from  the  mail  of  a 
dragonfly  in  a double-colored  metallic  flash. 
So  likewise  in  painting  a flower,  the  artist 
does  not  depict  a particular,  but  a typical 
flower : he  shows  the  morphological  law  of 
the  species,  or,  to  speak  symbolically,  nature’s 
thought  behind  the  form.  The  results  of  this 
method  may  astonish  even  scientific  men. 
Alfred  Russel  Wallace  speaks  of  a collection 
of  Japanese  sketches  of  plants  as  “ the  most 
masterly  things  ” that  he  ever  saw.  “ Every 
stem,  twig,  and  leaf,”  he  declares,  “ is  pro- 
duced by  single  touches  of  the  brush ; the 
character  and  perspective  of  very  complicated 
plants  being  admirably  given,  and  the  articu- 


ABOUT  FACES  IN  JAPANESE  ART  109 

lations  of  stem  and  leaves  shown  in  a most 
scientific  manner.”  (The  italics  are  my 
own.)  Observe  that  while  the  work  is  simpli- 
city itself,  “ produced  by  single  touches  of 
the  brush,”  it  is  nevertheless,  in  the  opinion  of 
one  of  the  greatest  living  naturalists,  “ most 
scientific.”  And  why  ? Because  it  shows 
the  type  character  and  the  law  of  the  type. 
So  again,  in  portraying  rocks  and  cliffs,  hills 
and  plains,  the  Japanese  artist  gives  us  the 
general  character,  not  the  wearisome  detail  of 
masses ; and  yet  the  detail  is  admirably  sug- 
gested by  this  perfect  study  of  the  larger  law. 
Or  look  at  his  color  studies  of  sunsets  and 
sunrises  : he  never  tries  to  present  every  mi- 
nute fact  within  range  of  vision,  but  offers  us 
only  those  great  luminous  tones  and  chro- 
matic blendings  which,  after  a thousand  petty 
details  have  been  forgotten,  still  linger  in  the 
memory,  and  there  recreate  the  feeling  of 
what  has  been  seen. 

Now  this  general  law  of  the  art  applies  to 
Japanese  representations  of  the  human  figure, 
and  also  (though  here  other  laws  too  come 
into  play)  of  the  human  face.  The  general 
types  are  given,  and  often  with  a force  that 


110  ABOUT  FACES  IN  JAPANESE  ART 


the  cleverest  French  sketcher  could  scarcely 
emulate ; the  personal  trait,  the  individual 
peculiarity,  is  not  given.  Even  when,  in  the 
humor  of  caricature  or  in  dramatic  represen- 
tation, facial  expression  is  strongly  marked, 
it  is  rendered  by  typical,  not  by  individual 
characteristics,  just  as  it  was  rendered  upon 
the  antique  stage  by  the  conventional  masks 
of  Greek  actors. 


IV 

A few  general  remarks  about  the  treatment 
of  faces  in  ordinary  Japanese  drawing  may 
help  to  the  understanding  of  what  that  treat- 
ment teaches. 

Youth  is  indicated  by  the  absence  of  all 
hut  essential  touches,  and  by  the  clean,  smooth 
curves  of  the  face  and  neck.  Excepting  the 
touches  which  suggest  eyes,  nose,  and  mouth, 
there  are  no  lines.  The  curves  speak  suffi- 
ciently of  fullness,  smoothness,  ripeness.  For 
story-illustration  it  is  not  necessary  to  elabo- 
rate feature,  as  the  age  or  condition  is  indi- 
cated by  the  style  of  the  coiffure  and  the 
fashion  of  the  dress.  In  female  figures,  the 
absence  of  eyebrows  indicates  the  wife  or 


ABOUT  FACES  IN  JAPANESE  ART  111 


widow ; a straggling  tress  signifies  grief ; 
troubled  thought  is  shown  by  an  unmistakable 
pose  or  gesture.  Hair,  costume,  and  attitude 
are  indeed  enough  to  explain  almost  every- 
thing. But  the  Japanese  artist  knows  how, 
by  means  of  extremely  delicate  variations  in 
the  direction  and  position  of  the  half  dozen 
touches  indicating  feature,  to  give  some  hint 
of  character,  whether  sympathetic  or  unsym- 
pathetic; and  this  hint  is  seldom  lost  upon  a 
Japanese  eye.1  Again,  an  almost  impercepti- 
ble hardening  or  softening  of  these  touches 
has  moral  significance.  Still,  this  is  never 

1 In  modem  Japanese  newspaper  illustrations  (I  refer 
particularly  to  the  admirable  woodcuts  illustrating'  the 
feuilletons  of  the  Osaka  Asahi  Shimbun)  these  indications 
are  quite  visible  even  to  a practiced  foreign  eye.  The  ar- 
tist of  the  Asahi  Shimbun  is  a woman. 

I am  here  reminded  of  a curious  fact  which  I do  not  re- 
member having  seen  mention  of  in  any  book  about  Japan. 
The  newly  arrived  Westerner  often  complains  of  his  inabil- 
ity to  distinguish  one  Japanese  from  another,  and  attributes 
this  difficulty  to  the  absence  of  strongly  marked  physiog- 
nomy in  the  race.  He  does  not  imagine  that  our  more 
sharply  accentuated  Occidental  physiognomy  produces  the 
very  same  effect  upon  the  Japanese.  Many  and  many  a 
one  has  said  to  me,  “For  a long  time  I found  it  very  hard 
to  tell  one  foreigner  from  another  : they  all  seemed  to  me 
alike.” 


112  ABOUT  FACES  IN  JAPANESE  ART 


individual : it  is  only  the  hint  of  a physiog- 
nomical law.  In  the  case  of  immature  youth 
(boy  and  girl  faces),  there  is  merely  a general 
indication  of  softness  and  gentleness,  — the 
abstract  rather  than  the  concrete  charm  of 
childhood. 

In  the  portrayal  of  maturer  types  the  lines 
are  more  numerous  and  more  accentuated,  — 
illustrating  the  fact  that  character  necessarily 
becomes  more  marked  in  middle  age,  as  the 
facial  muscles  begin  to  show.  But  there  is 
only  the  suggestion  of  this  change,  not  any 
study  of  individualism. 

In  the  representation  of  old  age,  the  Japa- 
nese artist  gives  us  all  the  wrinkles,  the  hol- 
lows, the  shrinking  of  tissues,  the  “crow’s- 
feet,”  the  gray  hairs,  the  change  in  the  line  of 
the  face  following  upon  loss  of  teeth.  His 
old  men  and  women  show  character.  They 
delight  us  by  a certain  worn  sweetness  of 
expression,  a look  of  benevolent  resignation  ; 
or  they  repel  us  by  an  aspect  of  hardened 
cunning,  avarice,  or  envy.  There  are  many 
types  of  old  age ; but  they  are  types  of  human 
conditions,  not  of  personality.  The  picture  is 
not  drawn  from  a model ; it  is  not  the  reflec- 


ABOUT  FACES  IN  JAPANESE  ART  113 


tion  of  an  individual  existence : its  value  is 
made  by  tbe  recognition  which  it  exhibits  of  a 
general  physiognomical  or  biological  law. 

Here  it  is  worth  while  to  notice  that  the 
reserves  of  Japanese  ai’t  in  the  matter  of  facial 
expression  accord  with  the  ethics  of  Oriental 
society.  For  ages  the  rule  of  conduct  has 
been  to  mask  all  personal  feeling  as  far  as 
possible,  — to  hide  pain  and  passion  under  an 
exterior  semblance  of  smiling  amiability  or  of 
impassive  resignation.  One  key  to  the  enig- 
mas of  Japanese  art  is  Buddhism. 

v 

I have  said  that  when  I now  look  at  a 
foreign  illustrated  newspaper  or  magazine  I 
can  find  little  pleasure  in  the  engravings. 
Most  often  they  repel  me.  The  drawing  seems 
to  me  coarse  and  hard,  and  the  realism  of  the 
conception  petty.  Such  work  leaves  nothing 
to  the  imagination,  and  usually  betrays  the 
effort  which  it  cost.  A common  Japanese 
drawing  leaves  much  to  the  imagination, — 
nay,  irresistibly  stimulates  it,  — and  never 
betrays  effort.  Everything  in  a common 
European  engraving  is  detailed  and  individ- 


114  ABOUT  FACES  IN  JAPANESE  ART 


ualized.  Everything  in  a Japanese  drawing 
is  impersonal  and  suggestive.  The  former 
reveals  no  law : it  is  a study  of  particularities. 
The  latter  invariably  teaches  something  of  law, 
and  suppresses  particularities  except  in  their 
relation  to  law. 

One  may  often  hear  Japanese  say  that 
Western  art  is  too  realistic ; and  the  judg- 
ment contains  truth.  But  the  realism  in  it 
which  offends  Japanese  taste,  especially  in  the 
matter  of  facial  expression,  is  not  found  fault 
with  merely  because  of  minuteness  of  detail. 
Detail  in  itself  is  not  condemned  by  any  art ; 
and  the  highest  art  is  that  in  winch  detail  is 
most  exquisitely  elaborated.  The  art  which 
saw  the  divine,  which  rose  above  nature’s  best, 
which  discovered  supramundane  ideals  for 
animal  and  even  floral  shapes,  was  character- 
ized by  the  sharpest  possible  perfection  of 
detail.  And  in  the  higher  Japanese  art,  as  in 
the  Greek,  the  use  of  detail  aids  rather  than 
opposes  the  aspirational  aim.  What  most 
displeases  in  the  realism  of  our  modern  illus- 
tration is  not  multiplicity  of  detail,  but,  as  we 
shall  presently  see,  signification  of  detail. 

The  queerest  fact  about  the  suppression  of 


ABOUT  FACES  IN  JAPANESE  ART  115 


physiognomical  detail  in  Japanese  art  is  that 
this  suppression  is  most  evident  just  where 
we  should  least  expect  to  find  it,  namely,  in 
those  creations  called  “ This-miserable-world 
pictures  ” (Ukiyo-yc),  or,  to  use  a correspond- 
ing Western  term,  “ Pictures  of  this  Vale  of 
Tears.”  For  although  the  artists  of  this  school 
have  really  given  us  pictures  of  a very  beauti- 
ful and  happy  world,  they  professed  to  reflect 
truth.  One  form  of  truth  they  certainly  pre- 
sented, but  after  a manner  at  variance  with 
our  common  notions  of  realism.  The  Ukiyo- 
ye  artist  drew  actualities,  but  not  repellent  or 
meaningless  actualities ; proving  his  rank  even 
more  by  his  refusal  than  by  his  choice  of  sub- 
jects. He  looked  for  dominant  laws  of  con- 
trast and  color,  for  the  general  character  of 
nature’s  combinations,  for  the  order  of  the 
beautiful  as  it  was  and  is.  Otherwise  his  art 
was  in  no  sense  aspirational ; it  was  the  art  of 
the  larger  comprehension  of  things  as  they 
are.  Thus  he  was  rightly  a realist,  notwith- 
standing that  his  realism  appears  only  in  the 
study  of  constants,  generalities,  types.  And 
as  expressing  the  synthesis  of  common  fact, 
the  systematization  of  natural  law,  this  Japa- 


116  ABOUT  FACES  IN  JAPANESE  ART 


nese  art  is  by  its  method  scientific  in  the  true 
sense.  The  higher  art,  the  aspirational  art 
(whether  Japanese  or  old  Greek),  is,  on  the 
contrary,  essentially  religious  by  its  method. 

Where  the  scientific  and  the  aspirational 
extremes  of  art  touch,  one  may  expect  to  find 
some  universal  aesthetic  truth  recognized  by 
both.  They  agree  in  their  impersonality : 
they  refuse  to  individualize.  And  the  lesson 
of  the  very  highest  art  that  ever  existed  sug- 
gests the  true  reason  for  this  common  refusal. 

What  does  the  charm  of  an  antique  head 
express,  whether  in  mai’ble,  gem,  or  mural 
painting,  — for  instance,  that  marvelous  head 
of  Leucothea  which  prefaces  the  work  of 
Winckelmann?  Needless  to  seek  the  reply 
from  works  of  mere  art  critics.  Science  alone 
can  furnish  it.  You  will  find  it  in  Herbert 
Spencer’s  essay  on  Personal  Beauty.  The 
beauty  of  such  a head  signifies  a superhu- 
manly perfect  development  and  balance  of  the 
intellectual  faculties.  All  those  variations  of 
feature  constituting  what  we  call  “ expression  ” 
represent  departures  from  a perfect  type  just 
in  proportion  as  they  represent  what  is  termed 
“ character  ; ” — and  they  are,  or  ought  to  be, 


ABOUT  FACES  IN  JAPANESE  ART  117 


more  or  less  disagreeable  or  painful  because 
“ the  aspects  which  please  us  are  the  outward 
correlatives  of  inward  perfections,  and  the 
aspects  which  displease  us  are  the  outward 
correlatives  of  inward  imperfections.”  Mr. 
Spencer  goes  on  to  say  that  although  there  are 
often  grand  natures  behind  plain  faces,  and 
although  fine  countenances  frequently  hide 
small  souls,  “ these  anomalies  do  not  destroy 
the  general  truth  of  the  law  any  more  than  the 
perturbations  of  planets  destroy  the  general 
ellipticity  of  their  orbits.” 

Both  Greek  and  Japanese  art  recognized 
the  physiognomical  truth  which  Mr.  Spencer 
put  into  the  simple  formula,  “ Expression  is 
feature  in  the  making.”  The  highest  art, 
Greek  art,  rising  above  the  real  to  reach  the 
divine,  gives  us  the  dream  of  feature  per- 
fected. Japanese  realism,  so  much  larger  than 
our  own  as  to  be  still  misunderstood,  gives 
us  only  “ feature  in  the  making,”  or  rather, 
the  general  law  of  feature  in  the  making. 

VI 

Thus  we  reach  the  common  truth  recog- 
nized equally  by  Greek  art  and  by  Japanese 


118  ABOUT  FACES  IN  JAPANESE  ART 


art,  namely,  the  non-moral  significance  of  in- 
dividual expression.  And  our  admiration  of 
the  art  reflecting  personality  is,  of  course, 
non-moral,  since  the  delineation  of  individual 
imperfection  is  not,  in  the  ethical  sense,  a sub- 
ject for  admiration. 

Although  the  facial  aspects  which  really 
attract  us  may  be  considered  the  outward 
correlatives  of  inward  perfections,  or  of  ap- 
proaches to  perfections,  we  generally  confess 
an  interest  in  physiognomy  which  by  no 
means  speaks  to  us  of  inward  moral  perfec- 
tions, but  rather  suggests  perfections  of  the 
reverse  order.  This  fact  is  manifested  even 
in  daily  life.  When  we  exclaim,  “ What 
force ! ” on  seeing  a head  with  prominent 
bushy  brows,  incisive  nose,  deep-set  eyes,  and 
a massive  jaw,  we  are  indeed  expressing  our 
recognition  of  force,  but  only  of  the  sort  of 
force  underlying  instincts  of  aggression  and 
brutality.  When  we  commend  the  character 
of  certain  strong  aquiline  faces,  certain  so- 
called  Roman  profiles,  we  are  really  com- 
mending the  traits  that  mark  a race  of  prey. 
It  is  true  that  we  do  not  admire  faces  in 
which  only  brutal,  or  cruel,  or  cunning  traits 


ABOUT  FACES  IN  JAPANESE  ART  119 


exist ; but  it  is  true  also  that  we  admire  the 
indications  of  obstinacy,  aggressiveness,  and 
harshness  when  united  with  certain  indica- 
tions of  intelligence.  It  may  even  be  said 
that  we  associate  the  idea  of  manhood  with 
the  idea  of  aggressive  power  more  than  with 
the  idea  of  any  other  power.  Whether  this 
power  be  physical  or  intellectual,  we  estimate 
it  in  our  popular  preferences,  at  least,  above 
the  really  supei’ior  powers  of  the  mind,  and 
call  intelligent  cunning  by  the  euphemism  of 
“ shrewdness.”  Probably  the  manifestation 
in  some  modern  human  being  of  the  Greek 
ideal  of  masculine  beauty  would  interest  the 
average  observer  less  than  a face  presenting 
an  abnormal  development  of  traits  the  re- 
verse of  noble,  — since  the  intellectual  signifi- 
cance of  perfect  beauty  could  be  realized  only 
by  persons  capable  of  appreciating  the  miracle 
of  a perfect  balance  of  the  highest  possible 
human  faculties.  In  modern  art  we  look  for 
the  feminine  beauty  which  appeals  to  the  feel- 
ing of  sex,  or  for  that  child-beauty  which  ap- 
peals to  the  instincts  of  parenthood ; and  we 
should  characterize  real  beauty  in  the  por- 
trayal of  manhood  not  only  as  unnatural,  but 


120  ABOUT  FACES  IN  JAPANESE  ART 

as  effeminate.  War  and  love  are  still  the  two 
dominant  tones  in  that  reflection  of  modern 
life  which  our  serious  art  gives.  But  it  will 
he  noticed  that  when  the  artist  would  exhibit 
the  ideal  of  beauty  or  of  virtue,  he  is  still 
obliged  to  borrow  from  antique  knowledge. 
As  a borrower,  he  is  never  quite  successful, 
since  he  belongs  to  a humanity  in  many  re- 
spects much  below  the  ancieut  Greek  level. 
A German  philosopher  has  well  said,  “ The 
resuscitated  Greeks  would,  with  perfect  truth, 
declare  our  works  of  art  in  all  departments  to 
be  thoroughly  barbarous.”  How  could  they 
be  otherwise  in  an  age  which  openly  admires 
intelligence  less  because  of  its  power  to  create 
and  preserve  than  because  of  its  power  to 
crush  and  destroy? 

Why  this  admiration  of  capacities  which 
we  should  certainly  not  like  to  have  exercised 
against  ourselves  ? Largely,  no  doubt,  be- 
cause we  admire  what  we  wish  to  possess,  and 
we  understand  the  immense  value  of  aggres- 
sive power,  intellectual  especially,  in  the  great 
competitive  struggle  of  modern  civilization. 

As  reflecting  both  the  trivial  actualities  and 
the  personal  emotionalism  of  Western  life,  our 


ABOUT  FACES  IN  JAPANESE  ART  121 


art  would  be  found  ethically  not  only  below 
Greek  art,  but  even  below  Japanese.  Greek 
art  expressed  the  aspiration  of  a race  toward 
the  divinely  beautiful  and  the  divinely  wise. 
Japanese  art  reflects  the  simple  joy  of  exist- 
ence, the  perception  of  natural  law  in  form 
and  color,  the  perception  of  natural  law  in 
change,  and  the  sense  of  life  made  harmoni- 
ous by  social  order  and  by  self-suppression. 
Modern  Western  art  reflects  the  thirst  of 
pleasure,  the  idea  of  life  as  a battle  for  the 
right  to  enjoy,  and  the  unamiable  qualities 
which  are  indispensable  to  success  in  the  com- 
petitive struggle. 

It  has  been  said  that  the  history  of  West- 
ern civilization  is  written  in  Western  physi- 
ognomy. It  is  at  least  interesting  to  study 
Western  facial  expression  through  Oriental 
eyes.  I have  frequently  amused  myself  by 
showing  European  or  American  illustrations 
to  Japanese  children,  and  hearing  their  artless 
comments  upon  the  faces  therein  depicted. 
A complete  record  of  these  comments  might 
prove  to  have  value  as  well  as  interest ; but  for 
present  purposes  I shall  offer  only  the  results 
of  two  experiments. 


122  ABOUT  FACES  IN  JAPANESE  ART 

The  first  was  with  a little  boy,  nine  years 
old,  before  whom,  one  evening,  I placed  sev- 
eral numbers  of  an  illustrated  magazine. 
After  turning  over  a few  of  the  pages,  he 
exclaimed,  “ Why  do  foreign  artists  like  to 
draw  horrible  things  ? ” 

“ What  horrible  things  ? ” I inquired. 

“ These,”  he  said,  pointing  to  a group  of 
figures  representing  voters  at  the  polls. 

“ Why,  those  are  not  horrible,”  I answered. 
“ We  think  those  drawings  very  good.” 

“ But  the  faces ! There  cannot  really  be 
such  faces  in  the  world.” 

“ We  think  those  are  ordinary  men.  Really 
horrible  faces  we  very  seldom  draw.” 

He  stared  in  surprise,  evidently  suspecting 
that  I was  not  in  earnest. 

To  a little  girl  of  eleven  I showed  some 
engravings  representing  famous  European 
beauties. 

“ They  do  not  look  bad,”  was  her  com- 
ment. “ But  they  seem  so  much  like  men, 
and  their  eyes  are  so  big ! . . . Their  mouths 
are  pretty.” 

The  mouth  signifies  a great  deal  in  Japa- 


ABOUT  FACES  IN  JAPANESE  ART  123 

nese  physiognomy,  and  the  child  was  in  this 
regard  appreciative.  I then  showed  her  some 
drawings  from  life,  in  a New  York  periodical. 
She  asked,  “ Is  it  true  that  there  are  people 
like  those  pictures  ? ” 

“ Plenty,”  I said.  “ Those  are  good,  com- 
mon faces,  — mostly  country  folic,  farmers.” 

“ Farmers ! They  are  like  Oni  [demons] 
from  the  jigoku  [Buddhist  hell].” 

“No,”  I answered,  “there  is  nothing  very 
bad  in  those  faces.  We  have  faces  in  the 
West  very  much  worse.” 

“ Only  to  see  them,”  she  exclaimed,  “ I 
should  die  ! I do  not  like  this  book.” 

I set  before  her  a Japanese  picture-book,  — 
a book  of  views  of  the  Tokaido.  She  clapped 
her  hands  joyfully,  and  pushed  my  half-in- 
spected foreign  magazine  out  of  the  way. 


VI 


NINGYO-NO-HAKA 

Manyemon  bad  coaxed  tlie  child  indoors, 
and  made  her  eat.  She  appeared  to  be  about 
eleven  years  old,  intelligent,  and  pathetically 
docile.  Her  name  was  Ine,  which  means 
“ springing  rice  ; ” and  her  frail  slimness  made 
the  name  seem  appropriate. 

When  she  began,  under  Manyemon’s  gentle 
persuasion,  to  tell  her  story,  I anticipated  some- 
thing queer  from  the  accompanying  change  in 
her  voice.  She  spoke  in  a high  thin  sweet 
tone,  perfectly  even,  — a tone  changeless  and 
unemotional  as  the  chanting  of  the  little  ket- 
tle over  its  charcoal  bed.  Not  unfrequently  in 
Japan  one  may  hear  a girl  or  a woman  utter 
something  touching  or  cruel  or  terrible  in 
just  such  a steady,  level,  penetrating  tone,  but 
never  anything  indifferent.  It  always  means 
that  feeling  is  being  kept  under  control. 

“ There  were  six  of  us  at  home,”  said  Ine,  — 
“ mother  and  father  and  father’s  mother,  who 


NING  YO-NO-HAKA 


125 


was  very  old,  and  my  brother  and  myself, 
and  a little  sister.  Father  was  a hyoguya , a 
paper-hanger:  he  papered  sliding-screens  and 
also  mounted  kakemono.  Mother  was  a hair- 
dresser. My  brother  was  apprenticed  to  a 
seal-cutter. 

“ Father  and  mother  did  well : mother  made 
even  more  money  than  father.  We  had  good 
clothes  and  good  food ; and  we  never  had  any 
real  sorrow  until  father  fell  sick. 

“ It  was  the  middle  of  the  hot  season.  Fa- 
ther had  always  been  healthy : we  did  not 
think  that  his  sickness  was  dangerous,  and  he 
did  not  think  so  himself.  But  the  vex-y  next 
day  he  died.  We  were  very  much  surprised. 
Mother  tried  to  hide  her  heart,  and  to  wait 
upon  her  customers  as  before.  But  she  was 
not  very  strong,  and  the  pain  of  father’s  death 
came  too  quickly.  Eight  days  after  father’s 
funeral  mother  also  died.  It  was  so  sudden 
that  everybody  wondered.  Then  the  neighbors 
told  us  that  we  must  make  a ningyo-no-halca 
at  once, — or  else  there  would  be  another 
death  in  our  house.  My  brother  said  they 
were  right ; but  he  put  off  doing  what  they 
told  him.  Perhaps  he  did  not  have  money 


126 


NINGYO-NO-HAKA 


enough,  I do  not  know ; but  the  liaka  was 
not  made.”  . . . 

“What  is  a ningyo  - no  - haka ?”  I inter- 
rupted. 

“ I think,”  Manyemon  made  answer,  “ that 
you  have  seen  many  ningyo-no-haka  without 
knowing  what  they  were  ; — they  look  just  like 
graves  of  children.  It  is  believed  that  when 
two  of  a family  die  in  the  same  year,  a third 
also  must  soon  die.  There  is  a saying,  Al- 
ways three  graves.  So  when  two  out  of  one 
family  have  been  buried  in  the  same  year,  a 
third  grave  is  made  next  to  the  graves  of  those 
two,  and  in  it  is  put  a coffin  containing  only 
a little  figure  of  straw,  — wara-ningyd  ; and 
over  that  grave  a small  tombstone  is  set  up, 
bearing  a kaimyo.1  The  priests  of  the  temple 
to  which  the  graveyard  belongs  write  the 
kaimyo  for  these  little  gravestones.  By  mak- 
ing a ningyo-no-haka  it  is  thought  that  a 
death  may  be  prevented.  . . . We  listen  for 
the  rest,  Ine.” 

1 The  posthumous  Buddhist  name  of  the  person  buried 
is  chiseled  upon  the  tomb  or  haka. 


NING  YO-NO-HA  KA 


127 


The  child  resumed  : — 

“ There  were  still  four  of  us,  — grand- 
mother, brother,  myself,  and  my  little  sister. 
My  brother  was  nineteen  years  old.  He  had 
finished  his  apprenticeship  just  before  father 
died : we  thought  that  was  like  the  pity  of  the 
gods  for  us.  He  had  become  the  head  of  the 
house.  He  was  very  skillful  in  his  business, 
and  had  many  friends : therefore  he  could 
maintain  us.  He  made  thirteen  yen  the  first 
month  ; — that  is  very  good  for  a seal-cutter. 
One  evening  he  came  home  sick : he  said  that 
his  head  hurt  him.  Mother  had  then  been  dead 
forty-seven  days.  That  evening  he  could  not 
eat.  Next  morning  he  was  not  able  to  get  up ; 
— he  had  a very  hot  fever : we  nursed  him  as 
well  as  we  could,  and  sat  up  at  night  to  watch 
by  him ; but  he  did  not  get  better.  On  the 
morning  of  the  third  day  of  his  sickness  we 
became  frightened  — because  he  began  to  talk 
to  mother.  It  was  the  forty-ninth  day  after 
mother’s  death,  — the  day  the  Soul  leaves  the 
house ; — and  brother  spoke  as  if  mother  was 
calling  him  : — ‘ Yes,  mother,  yes ! — in  a little 
while  I shall  come ! ’ Then  he  told  us  that 
mother  was  pulling  him  by  the  sleeve.  He 


128 


NING  YO-NO-HAKA 


would  point  with  his  hand  and  call  to  us  : — 
‘ There  she  is  ! — there  ! — do  you  not  see 
her?’  We  would  tell  him  that  we  could  not 
see  anything.  Then  he  would  say,  ‘ Ah  ! you 
did  not  look  quick  enough : she  is  hiding 
now ; — she  has  gone  down  under  the  floor- 
mats.’  All  the  morning  he  talked  like  that. 
At  last  grandmother  stood  up,  and  stamped 
her  foot  on  the  floor,  and  reproached  mother, 
— speaking  very  loud.  ‘ Taka ! ’ she  said, 
‘ Taka,  what  you  do  is  very  wrong.  When  you 
were  alive  we  all  loved  you.  None  of  us  ever 
spoke  unkind  words  to  you.  Why  do  you 
now  want  to  take  the  boy?  You  know  that 
he  is  the  only  pillar  of  our  house.  You  know 
that  if  you  take  him  there  will  not  be  any  one 
to  care  for  the  ancestors.  You  know  that  if 
you  take  him,  you  will  destroy  the  family 
name ! O Taka,  it  is  cruel ! it  is  shameful ! 
it  is  wicked ! ’ Grandmother  was  so  angry  that 
all  her  body  trembled.  Then  she  sat  down  and 
cried ; and  I and  my  little  sister  cried.  But 
our  brother  said  that  mother  was  still  pulling 
him  by  the  sleeve.  When  the  sun  went  down, 
he  died. 

“ Grandmother  wept,  and  stroked  us,  and 


NINGYO-NO-HAKA  129 

sang  a little  song  that  she  made  herself.  I 
can  remember  it  still : — 

Oya  no  nai  Jco  to 
Harnabt  no  chidori : 

Higuri-higurd  ni 

Sodd  shiboru.1 

“ So  the  third  grave  was  made,  — but  it 
was  not  a ningyo-no-haka ; — and  that  was 
the  end  of  our  house.  We  lived  with  kin- 
dred until  winter,  when  grandmother  died. 
She  died  in  the  night,  — when,  nobody  knew : 
in  the  morning  she  seemed  to  be  sleeping, 
but  she  was  dead.  Then  I and  my  little  sis- 
ter were  separated.  My  sister  was  adopted 
by  a tatamiya , a mahmaker,  — one  of  father’s 
friends.  She  is  kindly  treated  : she  even  goes 
to  school ! ” 

1 “ Children  without  parents,  like  the  seagulls  of  the 
coast.  Evening  after  evening  the  sleeves  are  wrung.” 
The  word  chidori  — indiscriminately  applied  to  many  kinds 
of  birds, — is  here  used  for  seagull.  The  cries  of  the  sea- 
gull are  thought  to  express  melancholy  and  desolation : 
hence  the  comparison.  The  long  sleeve  of  the  Japanese 
robe  is  used  to  wipe  the  eyes  as  well  as  to  hide  the  face  in 
moments  of  grief.  To  “wring  the  sleeve  ” — that  is,  to 
wring  the  moisture  from  a tear-drenched  sleeve  — is  a fre- 
quent expression  in  Japanese  poetry. 


130 


NING  YO-NO-HA  KA 


“ Aa  fushigi  na  koto  da  ! — aa  komatta 
ne  ? ” murmured  Manyemon.  Then  there  was 
a moment  or  two  of  sympathetic  silence.  Ine 
prostrated  herself  in  thanks,  and  rose  to  de- 
part.  As  she  slipped  her  feet  under  the  thongs 
of  her  sandals,  I moved  toward  the  spot  where 
she  had  been  sitting,  to  ask  the  old  man  a 
question.  She  perceived  my  intention,  and 
immediately  made  an  indescribable  sign  to 
Manyemon,  who  responded  by  checking  me 
just  as  I was  going  to  sit  down  beside  him. 

“ She  wishes,”  he  said,  “ that  the  master 
will  honorably  strike  the  matting  first.” 

“ But  why  ? ” I asked  in  surprise,  — no- 
ticing only  that  under  my  unshod  feet,  the 
spot  where  the  child  had  been  kneeling  felt 
comfortably  warm. 

Manyemon  answered  : — 

“ She  believes  that  to  sit  down  upon  the 
place  made  warm  by  the  body  of  another  is 
to  take  into  one’s  own  life  all  the  sorrow 
of  that  other  person,  — unless  the  place  be 
stricken  first.” 

Whereat  I sat  down  without  performing 
the  rite  ; and  we  both  laughed. 

“ Ine,”  said  Manyemon,  “ the  master  takes 


NING  YO-NO-HA  KA 


131 


your  sorrows  upon  him.  He  wants  ” — (I 
cannot  venture  to  render  Manyemon’s  hon- 
orifics)  — “ to  understand  the  pain  of  other 
people.  You  need  not  fear  for  him,  Ine.” 


VII 


IN  OSAKA 

Tdkalci  ya  ni 
Noboriti  mirtba 
Kemuri  tatsu ; — 

Tavii  no  kamado  wa 
Nigiwai  ni  kiri. 

(When  I ascend  a high  place  and  look  about  me,  lo ! the 
smoke  is  rising : the  cooking  ranges  of  the  people  are 
busy.) 

Song  of  the  Emperor  Nintoku. 

I 

Nearly  three  hundred  years  ago,  Captain 
John  Saris,  visiting  Japan  in  the  service  of 
the  “ Right  Honourable  Companye,  ye.  mar- 
chants  of  London  trading  into  ye.  East  In- 
dyes,” wrote  concerning  the  great  city  of 
Osaka  (as  the  name  is  now  transliterated):  — 
“ We  found  Osaca  to  be  a very  great  towne, 
as  great  as  London  within  the  walls,  with 
many  faire  timber  bridges  of  a great  height, 
seruing  to  passe  ouer  a riuer  there  as  wide  as 
the  Thames  at  London.  Some  faire  houses 


IN  OSAKA 


133 


we  found  there,  but  not  many.  It  is  one  of 
the  chiefe  sea-ports  of  all  Iapan  ; hauing  a 
castle  in  it,  maruellous  large  and  strong  ” 
. . . What  Captain  Saris  said  of  the  Osaka 
of  the  seventeenth  century  is  almost  equally 
true  of  the  Osaka  of  to-day.  It  is  still  a very 
great  city  and  one  of  the  chief  seaports  of  all 
Japan;  it  contains,  according  to  the  Occiden- 
tal idea,  “ some  faire  houses ; ” it  has  many 
“ faire  timber  bridges  ” (as  well  as  bridges 
of  steel  and  stone)  — “ seruiug  to  passe  ouer 
a river  as  wide  as  the  Thames  at  London,”  — 
the  Yodogawa ; and  the  castle  “ marvellous 
large  and  strong,”  built  by  Hideyoshi  after 
the  plan  of  a Chinese  fortress  of  the  Han 
dynasty,  still  remains  something  for  military 
engineers  to  wonder  at,  in  spite  of  the  dis- 
appearance of  the  many-storied  towers,  and 
the  destruction  (in  1868)  of  the  magnificent 
palace. 

Osaka  is  more  than  two  thousand  five  hun- 
dred years  old,  and  therefore  one  of  the  most 
ancient  cities  of  Japan,  — though  its  present 
name,  a contraction  of  Oye  no  Saha , meaning 
the  High  Land  of  the  Great  River,  is  be- 
lieved to  date  back  only  to  the  fifteenth  cen- 


134 


IN  OSAKA 


tury,  before  which  time  it  was  called  Naniwa. 
Centuries  before  Europe  knew  of  the  exist- 
ence of  Japan,  Osaka  was  the  great  financial 
and  commercial  centre  of  the  empire ; and  it 
is  that  still.  Through  all  the  feudal  era,  the 
merchants  of  Osaka  were  the  bankers  and 
creditors  of  the  Japanese  princes  : they  ex- 
changed the  revenues  of  rice  for  silver  and 
gold ; — they  kept  in  their  miles  of  fireproof 
warehouses  the  national  stores  of  cereals,  of 
cotton,  and  of  silk; — and  they  furnished  to 
great  captains  the  sinews  of  war.  Hideyoshi 
made  Osaka  his  military  capital ; — Iyeyasu, 
jealous  and  keen,  feared  the  great  city,  and 
deemed  it  necessary  to  impoverish  its  capital- 
ists because  of  their  financial  power. 

The  Osaka  of  1896,  covering  a vast  area 
has  a population  of  about  670,000.  As  to 
extent  and  population,  it  is  now  only  the  sec- 
ond city  of  the  empire ; but  it  remains,  as 
Count  Okuma  remarked  in  a recent  speech, 
financially,  industrially,  and  commercially  su- 
perior to  Toky5.  Sakai,  and  Hyogo,  and 
Kobe  are  really  but  its  outer  ports ; and  the 
last-named  is  visibly  outgrowing  Yokohama. 
It  is  confidently  predicted,  both  by  foreigners 


IN  OSAKA 


135 


and  by  Japanese,  that  Kobe  will  become  the 
chief  port  of  foreign  trade,  because  Osaka  is 
able  to  attract  to  herself  the  best  business 
talent  of  the  country.  At  present  the  foreign 
import  and  export  trade  of  Osaka  represents 
about  #120,000,000  a year ; and  its  inland 
and  coasting  trade  are  immense.  Almost 
everything  which  everybody  wants  is  made  in 
Osaka  ; and  there  are  few  comfortable  J apa- 
nese  homes  in  any  part  of  the  empire  to  the 
furnishing  of  which  Osaka  industry  has  not 
contributed  something.  This  was  probably 
the  case  long  before  Tokyo  existed.  There 
survives  an  ancient  song  of  which  the  burden 
runs,  — “ Every  day  to  Osaka  come  a thou- 
sand ships."  Junks  only,  in  the  time  when 
the  song  was  written ; steamers  also  to-day, 
and  deep-sea  travelers  of  all  rigs.  Along  the 
wharves  you  can  ride  for  miles  by  a seemingly 
endless  array  of  masts  and  funnels,  — though 
the  great  Trans-Pacific  liners  and  European 
mail-steamers  draw  too  much  water  to  enter 
the  harbor,  and  receive  their  Osaka  freight  at 
Kobe.  But  the  energetic  city,  which  has  its 
own  steamship  companies,  now  proposes  to  im- 
prove its  port,  at  a cost  of  #16,000,000.  An 


136 


IN  OSAKA 


Osaka  with  a population  of  two  millions,  and 
a foreign  trade  of  at  least  $300,000,000  a 
year,  is  not  a dream  impossible  to  realize  in 
the  next  half  century.  I need  scarcely  say 
that  Osaka  is  the  centre  of  the  great  trade- 
guilds,1  and  the  headquarters  of  those  cotton- 
spinning companies  whose  mills,  kept  running 
with  a single  shift  twenty-three  hours  out  of 
the  twenty-four,  turn  out  double  the  quantity 
of  yarn  per  spindle  that  English  mills  turn 
out,  and  from  thirty  to  forty  per  cent,  more 
than  the  mills  of  Bombay. 

Every  great  city  in  the  world  is  believed 
to  give  a special  character  to  its  inhabitants ; 
and  in  Japan  the  man  of  Osaka  is  said  to  be 
recognizable  almost  at  sight.  I think  it  can 
be  said  that  the  character  of  the  man  of  the 
capital  is  less  marked  than  that  of  the  man  of 
Osaka,  — as  in  America  the  man  of  Chicago 
is  more  quickly  recognized  than  the  New 
Yorker  or  Bostonian.  He  has  a certain  quick- 
ness of  perception,  ready  energy,  and  general 
air  of  being  “ well  up  to  date,”  or  even  a little 
in  advance  of  it,  which  represent  the  result 

1 There  are  upwards  of  four  hundred  commercial  com- 
panies in  Osaka. 


IN  OSAKA 


137 


of  industrial  and  commercial  intercompetition. 
At  all  events,  tlie  Osaka  merchant  or  manu- 
facturer has  a much  longer  inheritance  of 
business  experience  than  his  rival  of  the  polit- 
ical capital.  Perhaps  this  may  partly  account 
for  the  acknowledged  superiority  of  Osaka 
commercial  travelers ; a modernized  class,  of- 
fering some  remarkable  types.  While  jour- 
neying by  rail  or  steamer  you  may  happen  to 
make  the  casual  acquaintance  of  a gentleman 
whose  nationality  you  cannot  safely  decide 
even  after  some  conversation.  He  is  dressed 
with  the  most  correct  taste  in  the  latest  and 
best  mode ; he  can  talk  to  you  equally  well  in 
French,  German,  or  English;  he  is  perfectly 
courteous,  but  able  to  adapt  himself  to  the 
most  diverse  characters ; he  knows  Europe ; 
and  he  can  give  you  extraordinary  informa- 
tion about  parts  of  the  Far  East  which  you 
have  visited,  and  also  about  other  parts  of 
which  you  do  not  even  know  the  names.  As 
for  Japan,  he  is  familiar  with  the  special 
products  of  every  district,  their  comparative 
merits,  their  history.  His  face  is  pleasing,  — 
nose  straight  or  slightly  aquiline,  — mouth 
veiled  by  a heavy  black  moustache : the  eye- 


138 


IN  OSAKA 


lids  alone  give  you  some  right  to  suppose  that 
you  are  conversing  with  an  Oriental.  Such 
is  one  type  of  the  Osaka  commercial  traveler 
of  1896,  — a being  as  far  superior  to  the 
average  Japanese  petty  official  as  a prince  to 
a lackey.  Should  you  meet  the  same  man  in 
his  own  city,  you  would  probably  find  him  in 
J apanese  costume,  — dressed  as  only  a man 
of  fine  taste  can  learn  how  to  dress,  and  look- 
ing rather  like  a Spaniard  or  .Italian  in  dis- 
guise than  a Japanese. 

ii 

From  the  reputation  of  Osaka  as  a centre 
of  production  and  distribution,  one  would 
imagine  it  the  most  modernized,  the  least 
characteristically  Japanese,  of  all  Japanese 
cities.  But  Osaka  is  the  reverse.  Fewer 
Western  costumes  are  to  he  seen  in  Osaka 
than  in  any  other  large  city  of  Japan.  No 
crowds  are  more  attractively  robed,  and  no 
streets  more  picturesque,  than  those  of  the 
great  mart. 

Osaka  is  supposed  to  set  many  fashions ; 
and  the  present  ones  show  an  agreeable  ten- 
dency to  variety  of  tint.  When  I first  came 


IN  OSAKA 


139 


to  Japan  tlie  dominant  colors  of  male  costume 
were  dark,  — especially  dark  blue ; any  crowd 
of  men  usually  presenting  a mass  of  this 
shade.  To-day  the  tones  are  lighter ; and 
greys  — warm  greys,  steel  greys,  bluish  greys, 
purplish  greys  — seem  to  predominate.  But 
there  are  also  many  pleasing  variations,  — 
bronze-colors,  gold-browns,  “ tea-colors,”  for 
example.  Women’s  costumes  are  of  course 
more  varied;  but  the  character  of  the  fash- 
ions for  adults  of  either  sex  indicates  no 
tendency  to  abandon  the  rules  of  severe  good 
taste ; — gay  colors  appearing  only  in  the  at- 
tire of  children  and  of  dancing-girls,  — to 
whom  are  granted  the  privileges  of  perpetual 
youth.  I may  observe  that  the  latest  fashion 
in  the  silk  upper-dress,  or  haori , of  geisha, 
is  a burning  sky  - blue,  — a tropical  color 
that  makes  the  profession  of  the  wearer  dis- 
tinguishable miles  away.  The  higher -class 
geisha,  however,  affect  sobriety  in  dress.  I 
must  also  speak  of  the  long  overcoats  or 
overcloaks  worn  out-of-doors  in  cold  weather 
by  both  sexes.  That  of  the  men  looks  like  an 
adaptation  and  modification  of  our  “ ulster,” 
and  has  a little  cape  attached  to  it : the  mate- 


140 


IN  OSAKA 


rial  is  wool,  ancl  the  color  usually  light  brown 
or  grey.  That  of  the  ladies,  which  has  no 
cape,  is  usually  of  black  broadcloth,  with 
much  silk  binding,  and  a collar  cut  low  in 
front.  It  is  buttoned  from  throat  to  feet,  and 
looks  decidedly  genteel,  though  left  very  wide 
and  loose  at  the  back  to  accommodate  the  bow 
of  the  great  heavy  silk  girdle  beneath. 

Architecturally  not  less  than  fashionably, 
Osaka  remains  almost  as  Japanese  as  anybody 
could  wish.  Although  some  wide  thorough- 
fares exist,  most  of  the  streets  are  very  nar- 
row, — even  more  narrow  than  those  of  Ky- 
oto. There  are  streets  of  three-story  houses 
and  streets  of  two-story  houses  ; but  there  are 
square  miles  of  houses  one  story  high.  The 
great  mass  of  the  city  is  an  agglomeration  of 
low  wooden  buildings  with  tiled  roofs.  Nev- 
ertheless the  streets  are  more  interesting, 
brighter,  quainter  in  their  signs  and  sign- 
painting, than  the  streets  of  T5kyo ; and  the 
city  as  a whole  is  more  picturesque  than  Toky5 
because  of  its  waterways.  It  has  not  inaptly 
been  termed  the  Venice  of  Jajian;  for  it  is 
traversed  in  all  directions  by  canals,  besides 


IN  OSAKA 


141 


being  separated  into  several  large  portions  by 
the  branchings  of  the  Yodogawa.  The  streets 
facing  the  river  are,  however,  much  less  inter- 
esting than  the  narrow  canals. 

Anything  more  curious  in  the  shape  of  a 
street  vista  than  the  view  looking  down  one 
of  these  waterways  can  scarcely  be  found  in 
Japan.  Still  as  a mirror  surface,  the  canal 
flows  between  high  stone  embankments  sup- 
porting the  houses,  — houses  of  two  or  three 
stories,  all  sparred  out  from  the  stonework  so 
that  their  facades  bodily  overhang  the  water. 
They  are  huddled  together  in  a way  suggesting 
pressure  from  behind;  and  this  appearance  of 
squeezing  and  crowding  is  strengthened  by 
the  absence  of  regularity  in  design,  — no  house 
being  exactly  like  another,  but  all  having  an 
indefinable  Far-Eastern  queerness,  — a sort  of 
racial  character,  — that  gives  the  sensation 
of  the  very-far-away  in  place  and  time.  They 
push  out  funny  little  galleries  with  balus- 
trades ; barred,  projecting,  glassless  windows 
with  elfish  balconies  under  them,  and  rooflets 
over  them  like  eyebrows ; tiers  of  tiled  and 
tilted  awnings ; and  great  eaves  which,  in  cer- 
tain hours,  throw  shadows  down  to  the  foim- 


142 


IN  OSAKA 


elation.  As  most  of  the  timber-work  is  dark, 
— either  with  age  or  staining,  — the  shadows 
look  deeper  than  they  really  are.  Within 
them  you  catch  glimpses  of  balcony  pillars, 
bamboo  ladders  from  gallery  to  gallery,  pol- 
ished angles  of  joinery,  — all  kinds  of  jutting 
things.  At  intervals  you  can  see  mattings 
hanging  out,  and  curtains  of  split  bamboo, 
and  cotton  hangings  with  big  white  ideographs 
upon  them ; and  all  this  is  faithfully  repeated 
upside  down  in  the  water.  The  colors  ought 
to  delight  an  artist,  — umbers  and  chocolates 
and  chestnut-browns  of  old  polished  timber; 
warm  yellows  of  mattings  and  bamboo  screens  ; 
creamy  tones  of  stuccoed  surfaces ; cool  greys 
of  tiling.  . . . The  last  such  vista  I saw  was 
bewitched  by  a spring  haze.  It  was  early 
morning.  Two  hundred  yards  from  the  bridge 
on  which  I stood,  the  house  fronts  began  to 
turn  blue  ; farther  on,  they  were  transparently 
vapory ; and  yet  farther,  they  seemed  to  melt 
away  suddenly  into  the  light,  — a procession 
of  dreams.  I watched  the  progress  of  a boat 
propelled  by  a peasant  in  straw  hat  and  straw 
coat,  — like  the  peasants  of  the  old  picture- 
books.  Boat  and  man  turned  bright  blue  and 


IN  OSAKA 


143 


tlien  grey,  and  then,  before  my  eyes, 

glided  into  Nirvana.  The  notion  of  immate- 
riality so  created  by  that  luminous  haze  was 
supported  by  the  absence  of  sound ; for  these 
canal-streets  are  as  silent  as  the  streets  of 
shops  are  noisy. 

No  other  city  in  Japan  has  so  many  bridges 
as  Osaka:  wards  are  named  after  them,  and 
distances  marked  by  them,  — reckoning  al- 
ways from  Koraibashi,  the  Bridge  of  the  Ko- 
reans, as  a centre.  Osaka  people  find  their 
way  to  any  place  most  readily  by  remember- 
ing the  name  of  the  bridge  nearest  to  it. 
But  as  there  are  one  hundred  and  eighty- 
nine  principal  bridges,  this  method  of  reck- 
oning can  be  of  little  service  to  a stranger. 
If  a business  man,  he  can  find  whatever  he 
wants  without  learning  the  names  of  the 
bridges.  Osaka  is  the  best-ordered  city,  com- 
mercially, in  the  empire,  and  one  of  the  best- 
ordered  in  the  world.  It  has  always  been  a 
city  of  guilds ; and  the  various  trades  and 
industries  are  congregated  still,  according  to 
ancient  custom,  in  special  districts  or  particu- 
lar streets.  Thus  all  the  money-changers  are 


144 


IN  OSAKA 


in  Kitahama,  — the  Lombard  Street  of  J apan  ; 
the  dry-goods  trade  monopolizes  Honmachi ; 
the  timber  merchants  are  all  in  Nagabori  and 
Nishi-Yokobori ; the  toy-makers  are  in  Mi- 
nami  Kiuhojimachi  and  Kita  Midomae ; the 
dealers  in  metal  wares  have  Andojibasliidori 
to  themselves ; the  druggists  are  in  Doshio- 
machi,  and  the  cabinet-makers  in  Hachiman- 
suji.  So  with  many  other  trades ; and  so  with 
the  places  of  amusement.  The  theatres  are  in 
the  Dotombori ; the  jugglers,  singers,  dancers, 
acrobats,  and  fortune-tellers  in  the  Sennichi- 
mae,  close  by. 

The  central  part  of  Osaka  contains  many 
very  large  buildings,  — including  theatres,  re- 
freshment-houses, and  hotels  having  a repu- 
tation throughout  the  country.  The  number 
of  edifices  in  Western  style  is  nevertheless 
remarkably  small.  There  are  indeed  between 
eight  and  nine  hundred  factory  chimneys ; but 
the  factories,  with  few  exceptions,  are  not  con- 
structed on  Western  plans.  The  really  “for- 
eign ” buildings  include  a hotel,  a prefectual 
hall  with  a mansard  roof,  a city  hall  with  a 
classical  porch  of  granite  pillars,  a good  mod- 
ern post-office,  a mint,  an  arsenal,  and  sundry 


IN  OSAKA  145 

mills  and  breweries.  But  these  are  so  scat- 
tered and  situated  that  they  really  make  no 
particular  impression  at  variance  with  the 
Far-Eastern  character  of  the  city.  However, 
there  is  one  purely  foreign  corner,  — the  old 
Concession,  dating  back  to  a time  before 
Kobe  existed.  Its  streets  were  wrell  laid  out, 
and  its  buildings  solidly  constructed  ; but  for 
various  reasons  it  has  been  abandoned  to  the 
missionaries,  — only  one  of  the  old  firms,  with 
perhaps  an  agency  or  two,  remaining  open. 
This  deserted  settlement  is  an  oasis  of  silence 
in  the  great  commercial  wilderness.1  No  at- 
tempts have  been  made  by  the  native  mer- 
chants to  imitate  its  styles  of  building : in- 

deed, no  Japanese  city  shows  less  favor  than 
Osaka  to  Occidental  architecture.  This  is 
not  through  want  of  appreciation,  but  because 
of  economical  experience.  Osaka  will  build  in 
Western  style  — with  stone,  brick,  and  iron 
— only  when  and  where  the  advantage  of  so 

1 The  foreign  legations  left  Osaka  to  take  shelter  at  Kob4 
in  1868,  during  the  civil  war ; for  they  could  not  he  very 
well  protected  hy  their  men-of-war  in  Osaka.  Kob<5  once 
settled,  the  advantages  offered  hy  its  deep  harhor  settled 
the  fate  of  the  Osaka  Concession. 


146 


IN  OSAKA 


doing  is  indubitable.  There  will  be  no  specu- 
lation in  such  constructions,  as  there  has  been 
at  Tokyo : Osaka  “ goes  slow  ” and  invests 
upon  certainties.  When  there  is  a certainty, 
her  merchants  can  make  remarkable  offers,  — 
like  that  to  the  government  two  years  ago  of 
156,000,000  for  the  purchase  and  reconstruc- 
tion of  a railway.  Of  all  the  houses  in 
Osaka,  the  office  of  the  “ Asalii  Sliimbun  ” 
most  surprised  me.  The  “Asalii  Sliimbun” 
is  the  greatest  of  Japanese  newspapers,  — 
perhaps  the  greatest  journal  published  iu  any 
Oriental  language.  It  is  an  illustrated  daily, 
conducted  very  much  like  a Paris  newspaper, 
— publishing  a feuilleton,  translations  from 
foreign  fiction,  and  columns  of  light,  witty 
chatter  about  current  events.  It  pays  big 
sums  to  popular  writers,  and  spends  largely 
for  correspondence  and  telegraphic  news.  Its 
illustrations  — now  made  by  a woman  — 
offer  as  full  a reflection  of  all  phases  of  Japa- 
nese life,  old  or  new,  as  Punch  gives  of  Eng- 
lish life.  It  uses  perfecting  presses,  charters 
special  trains,  and  has  a circulation  reaching 
into  most  parts  of  the  empire.  So  I certainly 
expected  to  find  the  “ Asahi  Sliimbun  ” office 


IN  OSAKA 


147 


one  of  the  handsomest  buildings  in  Osaka. 
But  it  proved  to  be  an  old-time  Samurai- 
yashiki, — about  the  most  quiet  and  modest- 
looking  place  in  the  whole  district  where  it 
was  situated. 

I must  confess  that  all  this  sober  and  sen- 
sible conservatism  delighted  me.  The  com- 
petitive power  of  Japan  must  long  depend 
upon  her  power  to  maintain  the  old  simplicity 
of  life. 


in 

Osaka  is  the  great  commercial  school  of  the 
empire.  From  all  parts  of  Japan  lads  are 
sent  there  to  learn  particular  branches  of 
industry  or  trade.  There  are  hosts  of  applica- 
tions for  any  vacancy ; and  the  business  men 
are  said  to  be  very  cautious  in  choosing  their 
detchi,  or  apprentice-clerks.  Careful  inquiries 
are  made  as  to  the  personal  character  and  fam- 
ily history  of  applicants.  No  money  is  paid 
by  the  parents  or  relatives  of  the  apprentices. 
The  term  of  service  varies  according  to  the 
nature  of  the  trade  or  industry ; but  it  is  gen- 
erally quite  as  long  as  the  term  of  apprentice- 
ship in  Europe ; and  in  some  branches  of 


148 


IN  OSAKA 


business  it  may  be  from  twelve  to  fourteen 
years.  Sucli,  I am  told,  is  the  time  of  service 
usually  exacted  in  the  dry  goods  business  ; and 
the  detchi  in  a dry  goods  house  may  have  to 
work  fifteen  hours  a day,  with  not  more  than 
one  holiday  a month.  During  the  whole  of 
his  apprenticeship  he  receives  no  wages  what- 
ever, — nothing  but  his  board,  lodging,  and 
absolutely  necessary  clothing.  His  master  is 
supposed  to  furnish  him  with  two  robes  a year, 
and  to  keep  him  in  sandals,  or  geta.  Perhaps 
on  some  great  holiday  he  may  be  presented 
with  a small  gift  of  pocket  money  ; — but  this 
is  not  in  the  bond.  When  his  tei’in  of  service 
ends,  however,  his  master  either  gives  him 
capital  enough  to  begin  trade  for  himself  on 
a small  scale,  or  finds  some  other  way  of  assist- 
ing him  substantially,  — by  credit,  for  instance. 
Many  detchi  marry  their  employers’  daughters, 
in  which  event  the  young  couple  are  almost 
sure  of  getting  a good  start  in  life. 

The  discipline  of  these  long  apprenticeships 
may  be  considered  a severe  test  of  character. 
Though  a detchi  is  never  addressed  harshly, 
he  has  to  bear  what  no  European  clerk  would 
bear.  He  has  no  leisure,  — no  time  of  his  own 


IN  OSAKA 


149 


except  the  time  necessary  for  sleep  ; he  must 
work  quietly  but  steadily  from  dawn  till  late 
in  the  evening ; he  must  content  himself  with 
the  simplest  diet,  must  keep  himself  neat, 
and  must  never  show  ill-temper.  Wild  oats 
he  is  not  supposed  to  have,  and  no  chance  is 
given  him  to  sow  them.  Some  detchi  never 
even  leave  their  shop,  night  or  day,  for  months 
at  a time,  — sleeping  on  the  same  mats  where 
they  sit  in  business  hours.  The  trained  sales- 
men in  the  great  silk  stores  are  especially 
confined  within  doors,  — and  their  unhealthy 
pallor  is  proverbial.  Year  after  year  they 
squat  in  the  same  place,  for  twelve  or  fifteen 
hours  every  day ; and  you  wonder  why  their 
legs  do  not  fall  off,  like  those  of  Daruma.1 

Occasionally  there  are  moral  break-downs. 
Perhaps  a detchi  misappropriates  some  of  the 
shop  money,  and  spends  the  same  in  riotous 
living.  Perhaps  he  does  even  worse.  But, 

1 In  Japanese  popular  legend,  Daruma  (Bodliidharma), 
the  great  Buddhist  patriarch  and  missionary,  is  said  to  have 
lost  his  legs  during  a meditation  which  lasted  uninterrupt- 
edly for  nine  years.  A common  child’s  toy  is  a comical 
figure  of  Daruma,  without  legs,  and  so  weighted  within 
that,  no  matter  how  thrown  down,  it  will  always  assume  an 
upright  position. 


150 


IN  OSAKA 


whatever  the  matter  may  be,  he  seldom  thinks 
of  running  away.  If  he  takes  a spree,  he 
hides  himself  after  it  for  a day  or  two  ; — 
then  returns  of  his  own  accord  to  confess, 
and  ask  pardon.  He  will  be  forgiven  for  two, 
three,  perhaps  even  four  escapades,  — provided 
that  he  shows  no  signs  of  a really  evil  heart,  — 
and  be  lectured  about  his  weakness  in  its  rela- 
tion to  his  prospects,  to  the  feelings  of  his 
family,  to  the  honor  of  his  ancestors,  and  to 
business  requirements  in  general.  The  diffi- 
culties of  his  position  are  kindly  considered, 
and  he  is  never  discharged  for  a small  misde- 
meanor. A dismissal  would  probably  ruin 
him  for  life ; and  every  care  is  taken  to  open 
his  eyes  to  certain  dangers.  Osaka  is  really 
the  most  unsafe  place  in  Japan  to  play  the 
fool  in;  — its  dangerous  and  vicious  classes 
are  more  to  be  feared  than  those  of  the  cap- 
ital ; and  the  daily  news  of  the  great  city 
furnishes  the  apprentice  with  terrible  exam- 
ples of  men  reduced  to  poverty  or  driven  to 
self-destruction  through  neglect  of  those  very 
rules  of  conduct  which  it  is  part  of  his  duty  to 
learn. 

In  cases  where  detchi  are  taken  into  service 


IN  OSAKA 


151 


at  a very  early  age,  and  brought  up  in  the 
shop  almost  like  adopted  sons,  a very  strong 
bond  of  affection  between  master  and  appren- 
tice is  sometimes  established.  Instances  of 
extraordinary  devotion  to  masters,  or  members 
of  masters’  households,  are  often  reported. 
Sometimes  the  bankrupt  merchant  is  reestab- 
lished in  business  by  his  former  clerk.  Some- 
times, again,  the  affection  of  a detchi  may 
exhibit  itself  in  strange  extremes.  Last  year 
there  was  a curious  case.  The  only  son  of  a 
merchant  — a lad  of  twelve  — died  of  cholera 
during  the  epidemic.  A detchi  of  fourteen, 
who  had  been  much  attached  to  the  dead  boy, 
committed  suicide  shortly  after  the  funeral  by 
throwing  himself  down  in  front  of  a train. 
He  left  a letter,  of  which  the  following  is  a 
tolerably  close  translation,  — the  selfish  pro- 
nouns being  absent  in  the  original : 

“ Very  long  time  in,  august  help  received ; 
— honorable  mercy  even,  not  in  words  to  be 
declared.  Now  going  to  die,  unfaithful  in 
excess ; — yet  another  state  in,  making  re- 
birth, honorable  mercy  will  repay.  Spirit 
anxious  only  in  the  matter  of  little  sister 


152 


IN  OSAKA 


O-Noto  ; — with  humble  salutation , that  she 
he  honorably  seen  to,  supplicate. 

“ To  the  August  Lord  Master , 

“ From 

“ MANO  YOSHIMA  TS U.” 
iv 

It  is  not  true  that  Old  Japan  is  rapidly 
disappearing.  It  cannot  disappear  within  at 
least  another  hundred  years ; perhaps  it  will 
never  entirely  disappear.  Many  curious  and 
beautiful  things  have  vanished  ; hut  Old  J apan 
survives  in  art,  in  faith,  in  customs  and  habits, 
in  the  hearts  and  the  homes  of  the  people  : it 
may  be  found  everywhere  by  those  who  know 
how  to  look  for  it,  — and  nowhere  more  easily 
than  in  this  great  city  of  ship-building,  watch- 
making, beer-brewing,  and  cotton-spinning. 
I confess  that  I went  to  Osaka  chiefly  to  see 
the  temples,  especially  the  famous  Tennoji. 

Tennoji,  or,  more  correctly,  Shitennoji,  the 
Temple  of  the  Four  Deva  Kings,1  is  one  of 

1 They  defend  the  four  quarters  of  the  world.  In  Japa- 
nese their  names  are  Jikoku,  Komoku,  Zocho,  Bishamon  (or 
Tamon)  ; — in  Sanscrit,  Dhritarashtra,  Virupakslia,  Virud- 
haka,  and  Vaisravana,  — the  Kuvera  of  Brahmanism. 


IN  OSAKA 


158 


tli8  oldest  Buddhist  temples  in  Japan.  It 
was  founded  early  in  the  seventh  century  by 
Umayado-no-Oji,  now  called  Shotoku  Taislii, 
son  of  the  Emperor  Yomei,  and  prince  regent 
under  the  Empress  Suiko  (572-621  A.  D.). 
He  has  been  well  called  the  Constantine  of 
Japanese  Buddhism ; for  he  decided  the  future 
of  Buddhism  in  the  Empire,  first  by  a great 
battle  in  the  reign  of  his  father,  Yomei  Tenno, 
and  afterwards  by  legal  enactments  and  by 
the  patronage  of  Buddhist  learning.  The 
previous  Emperor,  Bitatsu  Tenno,  had  per- 
mitted the  preaching  of  Buddhism  by  Korean 
priests,  and  had  built  two  temples.  But  under 
the  reign  of  Yomei,  one  Mononobe  no  Moriya, 
a powerful  noble,  and  a bitter  opponent  of  the 
foreign  religion,  rebelled  against  such  toler- 
ance, burned  the  temples,  banished  the  priests, 
and  offered  battle  to  the  imperial  forces. 
These,  tradition  says,  were  being  driven  back 
when  the  Emperor’s  son  — then  only  sixteen 
years  old  — vowed  if  victorious  to  build  a 
temple  to  the  Four  Deva  Kings.  Instantly  at 
his  side  in  the  fight  there  towered  a colossal 
figure  from  before  whose  face  the  powers  of 
Moriya  broke  and  fled  away.  The  rout  of  the 


154 


IN  OSAKA 


enemies  of  Buddhism  was  complete  and  ter- 
rible ; and  the  young  prince,  thereafter  called 
Shotoku  Taislii,  kept  his  vow.  The  temple  of 
Tennoji  was  built,  and  the  wealth  of  the  rebel 
Moriya  applied  to  its  maintenance.  In  that 
part  of  it  called  the  Kondo,  or  Hall  of  Gold, 
Shotoku  Taishi  enshrined  the  first  Buddhist 
image  ever  brought  to  Japan,  — a figure  of 
Nyo-i-rin  Kwannon,  or  Kwannon  of  the  Circle 
of  Wishes,  — and  the  statue  is  still  shown  to 
the  public  on  certain  festival  days.  The  tre- 
mendous apparition  in  the  battle  is  said  to 
have  been  one  of  the  Four  Kings,  — Bisha- 
mon  (Vaisravana),  worshiped  to  this  day  as 
a giver  of  victory. 

The  sensation  received  on  passing  out  of 
the  bright,  narrow,  busy  streets  of  shops  into 
the  mouldering  courts  of  Tennoji  is  inde- 
scribable. Even  for  a Japanese  I imagine  it 
must  he  like  a sensation  of  the  supernatural, 
— a return  in  memory  to  the  life  of  twelve 
hundred  years  ago,  to  the  time  of  the  earliest 
Buddhist  mission  work  in  Japan.  Symbols  of 
the  faith,  that  elsewhere  had  become  for  me 
conventionally  familiar,  here  seemed  but  half 
familiar,  exotic,  prototypal ; and  things  never 


IN  OSAKA 


155 


before  seen  gave  me  tbe  startling  notion  of 
a time  and  place  out  of  existing  life.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  very  little  remains  of  the  origi- 
nal structure  of  the  temple ; parts  have  been 
burned,  parts  renovated.  But  the  impression 
is  still  very  peculiar,  because  the  rebuilders 
and  the  renovators  always  followed  the  origi- 
nal plans,  made  by  some  great  Korean  or 
Chinese  architect.  Any  attempt  to  write  of 
the  antique  aspect,  the  queer  melancholy 
beauty  of  the  place,  would  be  hopeless.  To 
know  what  Tennoji  is,  one  must  see  the  weird- 
ness of  its  decay,  — the  beautiful  neutral  tones 
of  old  timbers,  the  fading  spectral  greys  and 
yellows  of  wall-surfaces,  the  eccentricities  of 
disjointing,  the  extraordinary  carvings  under 
eaves,  — carvings  of  waves  and  clouds  and 
dragons  and  demons,  once  splendid  with 
lacquer  and  gold,  now  time-whitened  to  the 
tint  of  smoke,  and  looking  as  if  about  to 
curl  away  like  smoke  and  vanish.  The  most 
remarkable  of  these  carvings  belong  to  a fan- 
tastic five-storied  pagoda,  now  ruinous : nearly 
all  the  brazen  wind-bells  suspended  to  the 
angles  of  its  tiers  of  roofs  have  fallen.  Pa- 
goda and  temple  proper  occupy  a quadrangu- 


156 


IN  OSAKA 


lar  court  surrounded  by  an  open  cloister.  Be- 
yond are  other  courts,  a Buddhist  school,  and 
an  immense  pond  peopled  by  tortoises  and 
crossed  by  a massive  stone  bridge.  There  are 
statues  and  stone  lamps  and  lions  and  an 
enormous  temple-drum  ; — there  are  booths 
for  the  sale  of  toys  and  oddities  ; — there  are 
resting-places  where  tea  is  served,  and  cake- 
stands  where  you  can  buy  cakes  for  the  tor- 
toises or  for  a pet  deer,  which  approaches  the 
visitor,  bowing  its  sleek  head  to  beg.  There 
is  a two-storied  gateway  guarded  by  huge 
images  of  the  Ni-O,  — Ni-0  with  arms  and 
legs  muscled  like  the  limbs  of  kings  in  the 
Assyrian  sculptures,  and  bodies  speckled  all 
over  with  little  balls  of  white  paper  spat 
upon  them  by  the  faithful.  There  is  another 
gateway  whose  chambers  are  empty  ; — per- 
haps they  once  contained  images  of  the  Four 
Deva  Kings.  There  are  ever  so  many  curious 
things ; but  I shall  only  venture  to  describe 
two  or  three  of  my  queerest  experiences. 

First  of  all,  I found  the  confirmation  of  a 
certain  suspicion  that  had  come  to  me  as  I 
entered  the  temple  precincts,  — the  suspicion 
that  the  forms  of  worship  were  peculiar  as  the 


IN  OSAKA 


157 


buildings.  I can  give  no  reason  for  this  feel- 
ing ; I can  only  say  that,  immediately  after 
passing  the  outer  gate,  I had  a premonition  of 
being  about  to  see  the  extraordinary  in  reli- 
gion as  well  as  in  architecture.  And  I pres- 
ently saw  it  in  the  bell-tower,  — a two-story 
Chinese-looking  structure,  where  there  is  a 
bell  called  the  Indo-no-Kane,  or  Guiding-Bell, 
because  its  sounds  guide  the  ghosts  of  chil- 
dren through  the  dark.  The  lower  chamber 
of  the  bell-tower  is  fitted  up  as  a chapel.  At 
the  first  glance  I noticed  only  that  a Buddhist 
service  was  going  on ; I saw  tapers  burning, 
the  golden  glimmer  of  a shrine,  incense  smok- 
ing, a priest  at  prayer,  women  and  children 
kneeling.  But  as  I stopped  for  a moment 
before  the  entrance  to  observe  the  image  in 
the  shrine,  I suddenly  became  aware  of  the 
unfamiliar,  the  astonishing.  On  shelves  and 
stands  at  either  side  of  the  shrine,  and  above 
it  and  below  it  and  beyond  it,  were  ranged 
hundreds  of  children’s  ihai,  or  mortuary  tab- 
lets, and  with  them  thousands  of  toys ; little 
dogs  and  horses  and  cows,  and  warriors  and 
drums  and  trumpets,  and  pasteboard  armor 
and  wooden  swords,  and  dolls  and  kites  and 


158 


IN  OSAKA 


masks  and  monkeys,  and  models  of  boats,  and 
baby  tea-sets  and  baby-furniture,  and  whirli- 
gigs and  comical  images  of  tlie  Gods  of  Good 
Fortune,  — toys  modern  and  toys  of  fashion 
forgotten,  — toys  accumulated  through  cen- 
turies,— toys  of  whole  generations  of  dead 
children.  From  the  ceiling,  and  close  to  the 
entrance,  hung  down  a great  heavy  bell-rope, 
nearly  four  inches  in  diameter  and  of  many 
colors,  — the  rope  of  the  Indo-Ivane.  And 
that  rope  was  made  of  the  bibs  of  dead  chil- 
dren,, — yellow,  blue,  scarlet,  purple  bibs,  and 
bibs  of  all  intermediate  shades.  The  ceiling 
itself  was  invisible,  — hidden  from  view  by 
hundreds  of  tiny  dresses  suspended,  — dresses 
of  dead  children.  Little  boys  and  girls,  kneel- 
ing or  playing  on  the  matting  beside  the  priest, 
had  brought  toys  with  them,  to  be  deposited 
in  the  chapel,  before  the  tablet  of  some  lost 
brother  or  sister.  Every  moment  some  be- 
reaved father  or  mother  would  come  to  the 
door,  pull  the  bell-rope,  throw  some  copper 
money  on  the  matting,  and  make  a prayer. 
Each  time  the  bell  sounds,  some  little  ghost 
is  believed  to  hear,  — perhaps  even  to  find 
its  way  back  for  one  more  look  at  loved  toys 


IN  OSAKA 


159 


and  faces.  Tlie  plaintive  murmur  of  Namu 
Amida  Butsu  ; the  clanging  of  the  bell ; the 
deep  humming  of  the  priest’s  voice,  reciting 
the  Sutras ; the  tinkle  of  falling  coin ; the 
sweet,  heavy  smell  of  incense  ; the  passionless 
golden  beauty  of  the  Buddha  in  his  shrine ; 
the  colorific  radiance  of  the  toys  ; the  shadow- 
ing of  the  baby-dresses ; the  variegated  won- 
der of  that  bell-rope  of  bibs ; the  happy 
laughter  of  the  little  folk  at  play  on  the 
floor,  — all  made  for  me  an  experience  of 
weird  pathos  never  to  be  forgotten. 

Not  far  from  the  bell-tower  is  another 
curious  building,  which  shelters  a sacred 
spring.  In  the  middle  of  the  floor  is  an 
opening,  perhaps  ten  feet  long  by  eight  wide, 
surrounded  by  a railing.  Looking  down  over 
the  railing,  you  see,  in  the  dimness  below,  a 
large  stone  basin,  into  which  water  is  pour- 
ing from  the  mouth  of  a great  stone  tortoise, 
black  with  age,  and  only  half  visible,  — its 
hinder  part  reaching  back  into  the  darkness 
under  the  floor.  This  water  is  called  the 
Spring  of  the  Tortoise,  — Kame-i-Sui.  The 
basin  into  which  it  flows  is  more  than  half 


ICO 


IN  OSAKA 


full  of  white  paper,  — countless  slips  of  white 
paper,  each  bearing  in  Chinese  text  the 
kairnyo,  or  Buddhist  posthumous  name  of  a 
dead  person.  In  a matted  recess  of  the  build- 
ing sits  a priest  who  for  a small  fee  writes  the 
kairnyo.  The  purchaser  — relative  or  friend 
of  the  dead  — puts  one  end  of  the  written  slip 
into  the  mouth  of  a bamboo  cup,  or  rather 
bamboo  joint,  fixed  at  right  angles  to  the  end 
of  a long  pole.  By  aid  of  this  pole  he  lowers 
the  paper,  with  the  written  side  up,  to  the 
mouth  of  the  tortoise,  and  holds  it  under  the 
gush  of  water,  — repeating  a Buddhist  invo- 
cation the  while,  — till  it  is  washed  out  into 
the  basin.  When  I visited  the  spring  there 
was  a dense  crowd ; and  several  kairnyo  were 
being  held  under  the  mouth  of  the  tortoise  ; — • 
numbers  of  pious  folk  meantime  waiting,  with 
papers  in  their  hands,  for  a chance  to  use 
the  poles.  The  murmuring  of  Namu  Amida 
Butsu  was  itself  like  the  sound  of  rushing 
water.  I was  told  that  the  basin  becomes 
filled  with  kairnyo  every  few  days ; — then  it 
is  emptied,  and  the  papers  burned.  If  this  be 
true,  it  is  a remarkable  proof  of  the  force  of 
Buddhist  faith  in  this  busy  commercial  city ; 


IN  OSAKA 


161 


for  many  thousands  of  sucli  slips  of  paper 
would  he  needed  to  fill  the  basin.  It  is  said 
that  the  water  bears  the  names  of  the  dead 
and  the  prayers  of  the  living  to  Shotoku  Tai- 
shi,  who  uses  his  powers  of  intercession  with 
Amida  on  behalf  of  the  faithful. 

In  the  chapel  called  the  Taislii-Dd  there 
are  statues  of  Shotoku  Taishi  and  his  attend- 
ants. The  figure  of  the  prince,  seated  upon  a 
chair  of  honor,  is  life-size  and  colored  ; he  is 
attired  in  the  fashion  of  twelve  hundred  years 
ago,  wearing  a picturesque  cap,  and  Chinese 
or  Korean  shoes  with  points  turned  up.  One 
may  see  the  same  costume  in  the  designs 
upon  very  old  porcelains  or  very  old  screens. 
But  the  face,  in  spite  of  its  drooping  Chinese 
moustaches,  is  a typical  Japanese  face,  — 
dignified,  kindly,  passionless.  I turned  from 
the  faces  of  the  statues  to  the  faces  of  the 
people  about  me  to  see  the  same  types,  — to 
meet  the  same  quiet,  half-curious,  inscnitable 
gaze. 

In  powerful  contrast  to  the  ancient  struc- 
tures of  Tennoji  are  the  vast  Xishi  and  Higashi 
Hongwanji,  almost  exact  counterparts  of  the 


162 


IN  OSAKA 


Nislii  and  Higasln  Hongwanji  of  Tokyo. 
Nearly  every  great  city  of  Japan  has  a pair 
of  such  Hongwanji  (Temples  of  the  True 
Vow)  — one  belonging  to  the  Western  (Nishi), 
the  other  to  the  Eastern  (Higashi)  branch  of 
this  great  Shin  sect,  founded  in  the  thirteenth 
century.1  Varying  in  dimension  according  to 
the  wealth  and  religious  importance  of  the 
locality,  but  usually  built  upon  the  same  gen- 
eral plan,  they  may  be  said  to  represent  the 
most  modern  and  the  most  purely  Japanese 
form  of  Buddhist  architecture,  — immense, 
dignified,  magnificent. 

But  they  likewise  represent  the  almost  prot- 
estant  severity  of  the  rite  in  regard  to  sym- 
bols, icons,  and  external  forms.  Their  plain 
and  ponderous  gates  are  never  guarded  by  the 
giant  Ni-0  ; — there  is  no  swarming  of  drag- 
ons and  demons  under  their  enormous  eaves  ; 

1 The  division  of  the  sect  during  the  seventeenth  century 
into  two  branches  had  a political,  not  a religious  cause ; and 
the  sections  remain  religiously  united.  Their  abbots  are 
of  Imperial  descent,  whence  their  title  of  Monzeki,  or 
Imperial  Offspring.  Travelers  may  observe  that  the  walls 
inclosing  the  temple  grounds  of  this  sect  hear  the  same 
decorative  mouldings  as  those  of  the  walls  of  the  Imperial 
residences. 


IN  OSAKA 


163 


— no  golden  hosts  of  Buddhas  or  Bodhisattvas 
rise,  rank  on  rank,  by  tiers  of  aureoles, 
through  the  twilight  of  their  sanctuaries ; — 
no  curious  or  touching  witnesses  of  grate- 
ful faith  are  ever  suspended  from  their  high 
ceilings,  or  hung  before  their  altars,  or  fas- 
tened to  the  gratings  of  their  doorways ; — 
they  contain  no  ex-votos,  no  paper  knots  re- 
cording prayer,  no  symbolic  image  but  one,  — 
and  that  usually  small,  — the  figure  of  Amida. 
Probably  the  reader  knows  that  the  Hong- 
wan  ji  sect  represents  a movement  in  Buddhism 
not  altogether  unlike  that  which  Unitarianism 
represents  in  Liberal  Christianity.  In  its 
rejection  of  celibacy  and  of  all  ascetic  prac- 
tices ; its  prohibition  of  charms,  divinations, 
votive  offerings,  and  even  of  all  prayer  except- 
ing prayer  for  salvation  ; its  insistence  upon 
industrious  effort  as  the  duty  of  life ; its  main- 
tenance of  the  sanctity  of  marriage  as  a re- 
ligious bond  ; its  doctrine  of  one  eternal 
Buddha  as  Father  and  Saviour;  its  promise 
of  Paradise  after  death  as  the  immediate  re- 
ward of  a good  life  ; and,  above  all,  in  its 
educational  zeal,  — the  religion  of  the  “ Sect 
of  the  Pure  Land  ” may  be  justly  said  to  have 


164 


IN  OSAKA 


much  in  common  with  the  progressive  forms 
of  Western  Christianity,  and  it  has  certainly 
won  the  respect  of  the  few  men  of  culture  who 
find  their  way  into  the  missionary  legion. 
Judged  by  its  wealth,  its  respectability,  and 
its  antagonism  to  the  grosser  forms  of  Bud- 
dhist superstition,  it  might  be  supposed  the 
least  emotional  of  all  forms  of  Buddhism. 
But  in  some  respects  it  is  probably  the  most 
emotional.  No  other  Buddhist  sect  can  make 
such  appeals  to  the  faith  and  love  of  the  com- 
mon people  as  those  which  brought  into  being 
the  amazing  Eastern  Hong  wan  ji  temple  of 
Kyoto.  Yet  while  able  to  reach  the  simplest 
minds  by  special  methods  of  doctrinal  teach- 
ing, the  Hongwanji  cult  can  make  equally 
strong  appeal  to  the  intellectual  classes  by 
reason  of  its  scholarship.  Not  a few  of  its 
priests  are  graduates  of  the  leading  universi- 
ties of  the  West ; and  some  have  won  Euro- 
pean reputations  in  various  departments  of 
Buddhist  learning.  Whether  the  older  Bud- 
dhist sects  are  likely  to  dwindle  away  before 
the  constantly  increasing  power  of  the  Shin- 
shii  is  at  least  an  interesting  question.  Cer- 
tainly the  latter  has  everything  in  its  favor, 


IN  OSAKA 


165 


— imperial  recognition,  wealth,  culture,  and 
solidity  of  organization.  On  the  other  hand, 
one  is  tempted  to  doubt  the  efficacy  of  such 
advantages  in  a warfare  against  habits  of 
thought  and  feeling  older  by  many  centuries 
than  Shinshu.  Perhaps  the  Occident  fur- 
nishes a precedent  on  which  to  base  predic- 
tions. Remembering  how  strong  Roman 
Catholicism  remains  to-day,  how  little  it  has 
changed  since  the  days  of  Luther,  how  im- 
potent our  progressive  creeds  to  satisfy  the 
old  spiritual  hunger  for  some  visible  object  of 
worship,  — something  to  touch,  or  put  close 
to  the  heart,  — it  becomes  difficult  to  believe 
that  the  iconolatry  of  the  more  ancient  Bud- 
dhist sects  will  not  continue  for  hundreds  of 
years  to  keep  a large  place  in  popular  affec- 
tion. Again,  it  is  worthy  of  remark  that  one 
curious  obstacle  to  the  expansion  of  the  Shin- 
shu is  to  be  found  in  a very  deeply  rooted 
race  feeling  on  the  subject  of  self-sacrifice. 
Although  much  corruption  undoubtedly  exists 
in  the  older  sects,  — although  numbers  of 
their  priests  do  not  even  pretend  to  observe 
the  vows  regarding  diet  and  celibacy,1  — the 
1 This  has  been  especially  the  case  since  the  abrogation 


166 


IN  OSAKA 


ancient  ideals  are  by  no  means  dead  ; and  the 
majority  of  Japanese  Buddhists  still  disap- 
prove of  the  relatively  pleasurable  lives  of  the 
Shinshu  priesthood.  In  some  of  the  remoter 
provinces,  where  Shinshu  is  viewed  with  es- 
pecial disfavor,  one  may  often  hear  children 
singing  a naughty  song  ( Shinshu  bozn  e mon 
da  /),  which  might  thus  be  freely  rendered : — 
Shinshu  priest  to  be,  — 

What  a nice  thing  ! 

Wife  has,  child  has, 

Good  fish  eats. 

It  reminded  me  of  those  popular  criticisms 
of  Buddhist  conduct  tittered  in  the  time  of 
the  Buddha  himself,  and  so  often  recorded  in 
the  Vinaya  texts,  — almost  like  a refrain  : — 
“ Then  the  people  were  annoyed ; and  they 
murmured  and  complained , saying : ‘ These 
act  like  men  who  are  still  enjoying  the  pleas- 
ures of  this  world ! ’ And  they  told  the 
thing  to  the  Blessed  One.” 

Besides  Tennoji,  Osaka  has  many  famous 
temples,  both  Buddhist  and  Shinto,  with  very 

of  the  civil  laws  forbidding  priests  to  marry.  The  waves 
of  the  priests  of  other  sects  than  the  Shinshu  are  called  by 
a humorous  and  not  very  respectful  appellation. 


IN  OSAKA 


167 


ancient  histories.  Of  such  is  Kozu-no-yashiro, 
where  the  people  pray  to  the  spirit  of  Nintoku, 
— most  beloved  in  memory  of  all  J apanese 
emperors.  He  had  a palace  on  the  same 
hill  where  his  shrine  now  stands ; and  this 
site  — whence  a fine  view  of  the  city  can  be 
obtained  — is  the  scene  of  a pleasing  legend 
preserved  in  the  Kojiki : — 

. . . “ Thereupon  the  Heavenly  Sovereign,  as- 
cending a lofty  mountain  and  looking  on  the  land 
all  round,  spoke,  saying : — ‘In  the  whole  land 
there  rises  no  smoke ; the  land  is  all  poverty- 
stricken.  So  I remit  all  the  people’s  taxes  and 
forced  labor  from  now  till  three  years  hence.’ 
Thereupon  the  great  palace  became  dilapidated, 
and  the  rain  leaked  in  everywhere ; but  no  repairs 
were  made.  The  rain  that  leaked  in  was  caught  in 
troughs,  and  the  inmates  removed  to  places  where 
there  was  no  leakage.  When  later  the  Heavenly 
Sovereign  looked  upon  the  land,  the  smoke  was 
abundant  in  the  land.  So,  finding  the  people  rich, 
he  now  exacted  taxes  and  forced  labor.  Therefore 
the  peasantry  prospered,  and  did  not  suffer  from 
the  forced  labor.  So,  in  praise  of  that  august  reign, 
it  was  called  the  Reign  of  the  Emperor-Sage.”  1 

1 See  Professor  Chamberlain’s  translation  of  the  Kojiki, 
section  CXXI. 


168 


IN  OSAKA 


That  was  fifteen  hundred  years  ago.  Now, 
could  the  good  Emperor  see,  from  his  shrine 
of  Ivdzu,  — as  thousands  must  believe  he 
does,  — the  smoke  of  modern  Osaka,  he 
might  well  think,  “ My  people  are  becoming 
too  rich.” 

Outside  of  the  city  there  is  a still  more 
famous  Shinto  temple,  Sumiyoshi,  dedicated 
to  certain  sea-gods  who  aided  the  Empress 
Jingo  to  conquer  Korea.  At  Sumiyoshi  there 
are  pretty  cliild-priestesses,  and  beautiful 
grounds,  and  an  enormous  pond  spanned  by 
a bridge  so  humped  that,  to  cross  it  without 
taking  off  your  shoes,  you  must  cling  to  the 
parapet.  At  Sakai  there  is  the  Buddhist  tem- 
ple of  Myokokuji,  in  the  garden  of  which  are 
some  very  old  palm-trees  ; — one  of  them,  re- 
moved by  Nobunaga  in  the  sixteenth  century, 
is  said  to  have  cried  out  and  lamented  until  it 
was  taken  back  to  the  temple.  You  see  the 
ground  under  these  palms  covered  with  what 
looks  like  a thick,  shiny,  disordered  mass  of 
fur,  — half  reddish  and  half  silvery  grey.  It 
is  not  fur.  It  is  a heaping  of  millions  of  nee- 
dles thrown  there  by  pilgrims  “ to  feed  the 
palms,”  because  these  trees  are  said  to  love 


IN  OSAKA  169 

iron  and  to  be  strengthened  by  absorbing  its 
rust. 

Speaking  of  trees,  I may  mention  the  Nani- 
waya  “ Kasa-matsu,”  or  Hat-Pine,  — not  so 
much  because  it  is  an  extraordinary  tree  as 
because  it  supports  a large  family  who  keep 
a little  tea-house  on  the  road  to  Sakai.  The 
branches  of  the  tree  have  been  trained  out- 
wards and  downwards  over  a framework  of 
poles,  so  that  the  whole  presents  the  appear- 
ance of  an  enormous  green  hat  of  the  shape 
worn  by  peasants  and  called  Kasa.  The  pine 
is  scarcely  six  feet  high,  but  covers  perhaps 
twenty  square  yards  ; — its  trunk,  of  course, 
not  being  visible  at  all  from  outside  the  frame- 
work supporting  the  branches.  Many  people 
visit  the  house  to  look  at  the  pine  and  drink 
a cup  of  tea ; and  nearly  every  visitor  buys 
some  memento  of  it,  — perhaps  a woodcut  of 
the  tree,  or  a printed  copy  of  verses  written 
by  some  poet  in  praise  of  it,  or  a girl’s  hair- 
pin, the  top  of  which  is  a perfect  little  green 
model  of  the  tree,  — framework  of  poles  and 
all,  — with  one  tiny  stork  perched  on  it.  The 
owners  of  the  Naniwaya,  as  their  tea-house 
is  called,  are  not  only  able  to  make  a good 


170 


IN  OSAKA 


living,  but  to  educate  their  children,  by  the 
exhibition  of  this  tree,  and  the  sale  of  such 
mementos. 

I do  not  intend  to  tax  my  reader’s  patience 
by  descriptions  of  the  other  famous  temples  of 
Osaka,  — several  of  which  are  enormously  old, 
and  have  most  curious  legends  attached  to 
them.  But  I may  venture  a few  words  about 
the  cemeteiy  of  the  Temple  of  One  Sold, — or 
better,  perhaps,  the  Temple  of  a Single  Mind  : 
Isshinji.  The  monuments  there  are  the  most 
extraordinary  I ever  saw.  Near  the  main  gate 
is  the  tomb  of  a wrestler,  — Asahigoro  Ha- 
chiro.  His  name  is  chiseled  upon  a big  disk 
of  stone,  probably  weighing  a ton ; and  this 
disk  is  supported  on  the  back  of  a stone  im- 
age of  a wrestler,  — a grotesque  figure,  with 
gilded  eyes  starting  from  their  sockets,  and 
features  apparently  distorted  by  effort.  It 
is  a very  queer  thing,  — half -comical,  half- 
furious  of  aspect.  Close  by  is  the  tomb  of 
one  Hirayama  Hambei,  — a monument  shaped 
like  a hyotan,  — that  is  to  say,  like  a wine- 
gourd  such  as  travelers  use  for  carrying  sake. 
The  most  usual  form  of  hyotan  resembles  that 


IN  OSAKA 


171 


of  an  hour-glass,  except  that  the  lower  part 
is  somewhat  larger  than  the  upper ; and  the 
vessel  can  only  stand  upright  when  full  or 
partly  full,  — so  that  in  a Japanese  song  the 
wine-lover  is  made  to  say  to  his  gourd,  “ With 
you  I fall."  Apparently  the  mighty  to  drink 
wine  have  a district  all  to  themselves  in  this 
cemetery ; for  there  are  several  other  monu- 
ments of  like  form  in  the  same  row,  — also  one 
shaped  like  a very  large  sake-bottle  ( isshodok - 
Jcuri),1  on  which  is  inscribed  a verse  not  taken 
from  the  sutras.  But  the  oddest  monument  of 
all  is  a great  stone  badger,  sitting  upright, 
and  seeming  to  strike  its  belly  with  its  fore- 
paws. On  the  belly  is  cut  a name,  Inouye 
Dennosuke,  together  with  the  verse : — 

TsuM  yo  yoslii 

Nembutsu  tonaite 

Hiira  tsudzumi. 

Which  means  about  as  follows : — “ On  fine 
moonlight-nights,  repeating  the  Nembutsu,  I 
play  the  belly-drum.”  The  flower-vases  are  in 
the  form  of  sake-bottles.  Artificial  rock-work 
supports  the  monument ; and  here  and  there, 

1 That  is,  a bottle  containing  one  sbo,  — about  a quart 
and  a half. 


172 


IN  OSAKA 


among  the  rocks,  are  smaller  figures  of  badg- 
ers, dressed  like  Buddhist  priests  (tanuki- 
bozu).  My  readers  probably  know  that  the 
Japanese  tanuki 1 is  credited  with  the  power 
of  assuming  human  shape,  and  of  making 
musical  sounds  like  the  booming  of  a hand- 
drum  by  tapping  upon  its  belly.  It  is  said 
often  to  disguise  itself  as  a Buddhist  priest 
for  mischievous  purposes,  and  to  be  very 
fond  of  sake.  Of  course,  such  images  in  a 
cemetery  represent  nothing  more  than  eccen- 
tricities, and  are  judged  to  be  in  bad  taste. 
One  is  reminded  of  certain  jocose  paintings 
and  inscriptions  upon  Greek  and  Roman 
tombs,  expressing  in  regard  to  death  — or 
rather  in  regard  to  life  — a sentiment,  or  an 
affectation  of  sentiment,  repellent  to  modern 
feeling. 

v 

I said  in  a former  essay  that  a Japa- 
nese city  is  little  more  than  a wilderness  of 
wooden  sheds,  and  Osaka  is  no  exception. 

1 Although  tanuki  is  commonly  translated  by  “badger,” 
the  creature  so  called  is  not  a real  badger,  but  a kind  of 
fruit-fox.  It  is  also  termed  the  “ raccoon-faced  dog.”  The 
true  badger  is,  however,  also  found  in  Japan. 


IN  OSAKA 


173 


But  interiorly  a very  large  number  of  tbe 
frail  wooden  dwellings  of  any  Japanese  city 
are  works  of  art ; and  perhaps  no  city  pos- 
sesses more  charming  homes  than  Osaka. 
Kyoto  is,  indeed,  much  richer  in  gardens,  — 
there  being  comparatively  little  space  for  gar- 
dens in  Osaka;  but  I am  speaking  of  the 
houses  only.  Exteriorly  a Japanese  street 
may  appear  little  better  than  a row  of  wooden 
barns  or  stables,  but  the  interior  of  any 
dwelling  in  it  may  be  a wonder  of  beauty. 
Usually  the  outside  of  a Japanese  house  is  not 
at  all  beautiful,  though  it  may  have  a cer- 
tain pleasing  oddity  of  form ; and  in  many 
cases  the  walls  of  the  rear  or  sides  are  covered 
with  charred  boards,  of  which  the  blackened 
and  hardened  surfaces  are  said  to  resist  heat 
and  damp  better  than  any  coating  of  paint  or 
stucco  could  do.  Except,  perhaps,  the  outside 
of  a coal-shed,  nothing  dingier-looking  could 
be  imagined.  But  the  other  side  of  the  black 
walls  may  be  an  aesthetic  delight.  The  com- 
parative cheapness  of  the  residence  does  not 
much  affect  this  possibility;  — for  the  Japa- 
nese excel  all  nations  in  obtaining  the  maxi- 
mum  of  beauty  with  the  minimum  of  cost ; 


174 


IN  OSAKA 


while  the  most  industrially  advanced  of  West- 
ern peoples  — the  practical  Americans  — have 
yet  only  succeeded  in  obtaining  the  mini- 
mum of  beauty  with  the  maximum  of  cost! 
Much  about  Japanese  interiors  can  be  learned 
from  Morse’s  “Japanese  Homes;”  but  even 
that  admirable  book  gives  only  the  black-and- 
white  notion  of  the  subject ; and  more  than 
half  of  the  charm  of  such  interiors  is  the  al- 
most inexplicable  caress  of  color.  To  illus- 
trate Mr.  Morse’s  work  so  as  to  interpret  the 
colorific  charm  would  be  a dearer  and  a more 
difficult  feat  than  the  production  of  Racinet’s 
“ Costumes  Ilistorique.”  Even  thus  the  sub- 
dued luminosity,  the  tone  of  perfect  repose,  the 
revelations  of  delicacy  and  daintiness  waiting 
the  eye  in  every  nook  of  chambers  seemingly 
contrived  to  catch  and  keep  the  feeling  of  per- 
petual summer,  would  remain  unguessed.  Five 
years  ago  I wrote  that  a little  acquaintance 
with  the  Japanese  art  of  flower  arrangement 
had  made  it  impossible  for  me  to  endure  the 
sight  of  that  vulgarity,  or  rather  brutality, 
which  in  the  West  we  call  a “ bouquet.” 
To-day  I must  add  that  familiarity  writh  Japa- 
nese interiors  has  equally  disgusted  me  with 


IN  OSAKA 


175 


Occidental  interiors,  no  matter  how  spacious 
or  comfortable  or  richly  furnished.  Return- 
ing now  to  Western  life,  I should  feel  like 
Thomas-the-Rhymer  revisiting  a world  of  ugli- 
ness and  sorrow  after  seven  years  of  fairyland. 

It  is  possible,  as  has  been  alleged  (though 
I cannot  believe  it),  that  Western  artists 
have  little  more  to  learn  from  the  study  of 
Japanese  pictorial  art.  But  I am  quite  sure 
that  our  house-builders  have  universes  of  facts 
to  learn  — especially  as  regards  the  treatment 
and  tinting  of  surfaces  — from  the  study  of 
Japanese  interiors.  Whether  the  countless 
styles  of  these  interiors  can  even  be  classed 
appears  to  me  a doubtful  question.  I do  not 
think  that  in  a hundred  thousand  Japanese 
houses  there  are  two  interiors  precisely  alike 

— (excluding,  of  course,  the  homes  of  the 
poorest  classes),  — for  the  designer  never  re- 
peats himself  when  he  can  help  it.  The  lesson 
he  has  to  teach  is  the  lesson  of  perfect  taste 
combined  with  inexhaustible  variety.  Taste ! 

— what  a rare  thing  it  is  in  our  Western 
world  ! — and  how  independent  of  material,  — 
how  intuitive,  — how  incommunicable  to  the 
vulgar ! But  taste  is  a Japanese  birthright. 


176 


IN  OSAKA 


It  is  everywhere  present,  — though  varying  in 
quality  of  development  according  to  conditions 
and  the  inheritance  depending  upon  condi- 
tions. The  average  Occidental  recognizes  only 
the  commoner  forms  of  it,  — chiefly  those  made 
familiar  by  commercial  export.  And,  as  a 
general  rule,  what  the  West  most  admires  in 
Japanese  conventional  taste  is  thought  rather 
vulgar  in  Japan.  Not  that  we  are  wrong  in  ad- 
miring whatever  is  beautiful  in  itself.  Even  the 
designs  printed  in  tints  upon  a two-cent  towel 
may  be  really  great  pictures : they  are  some- 
times made  by  excellent  artists.  But  the  aris- 
tocratic severity  of  the  best  Japanese  taste  — 
the  exquisite  complexity  of  its  refinements  in 
the  determination  of  proportion,  quality,  tone, 
restraint  — has  never  yet  been  dreamed  of  by 
the  West.  Nowhere  is  this  taste  so  finely 
exhibited  as  in  private  interiors,  — particu- 
larly in  regard  to  color.  The  rules  of  color 
in  the  composition  of  a set  of  rooms  are  not 
less  exacting  than  the  rules  of  color  in  the  mat- 
ter of  dress,  — though  permitting  considerable 
variety.  The  mere  tones  of  a private  house 
are  enough  to  indicate  its  owner’s  degree  of 
culture.  There  is  no  painting,  no  varnishing, 


IN  OSAKA 


177 


no  wall-papering,  — only  staining  and  polishing 
of  particular  parts,  and  a sort  of  paper  border 
about  fifteen  inches  broad  fixed  along  the 
bottom  of  a wall  to  protect  it  during  clean- 
ing and  dusting  operations.  The  plastering 
may  be  made  with  sands  of  different  hues,  or 
with  fragments  of  shell  and  nacre,  or  with 
quartz-crystal,  or  with  mica  ; the  surface  may 
imitate  granite,  or  may  sparkle  like  copper 
pyrites,  or  may  look  exactly  like  a rich  mass 
of  bark ; but,  whatever  the  material,  the  tint 
given  must  show  the  same  faultless  taste  that 
rules  in  the  tints  of  silks  for  robes  and  girdles. 
. . . As  yet,  all  this  interior  world  of  beauty 
— just  because  it  is  an  interior  world  — is 
closed  to  the  foreign  tourist : he  can  find  at 
most  only  suggestions  of  it  in  the  rooms  of 
such  old-fashioned  inns  or  tea-houses  as  he 
may  visit  in  the  course  of  his  travels. 

I wonder  how  many  foreign  travelers  un- 
derstand the  charm  of  a Japanese  inn,  or  even 
think  how  much  is  done  to  please  them,  not 
merely  in  the  matter  of  personal  attentions, 
but  in  making  beauty  for  their  eyes.  Multi- 
tudes write  of  their  petty  vexations,  — their 


178 


IN  OSAKA 


personal  acquaintance  with  fleas,  their  per- 
sonal dislikes  and  discomforts  ; but  how  many 
write  of  the  charm  of  that  alcove  where  every 
day  fresh  flowers  are  placed,  — arranged 
as  no  European  florist  could  ever  learn  to 
arrange  flowers,  — and  where  there  is  sure  to 
be  some  object  of  real  art,  whether  in  bronze, 
lacquer,  or  porcelain,  together  with  a picture 
suited  to  the  feeling  of  the  time  and  season  ? 
These  little  aesthetic  gratifications,  though 
never  charged  for,  ought  to  be  kindly  remem- 
bered when  the  gift  of  “ tea-money  ” is  made. 
I have  been  in  hundreds  of  Japanese  hotels, 
and  I remember  only  one  in  which  I could 
find  nothing  curious  or  pretty,  — a ramshackle 
shelter  hastily  put  up  to  catch  custom  at  a 
newly-opened  railway  station. 

A word  about  the  alcove  of  my  room  in 
Osaka : — The  wall  was  covered  only  with  a 
mixture  of  sand  and  metallic  filings  of  some 
sort,  but  it  looked  like  a beautiful  surface 
of  silver  ore.  To  the  pillar  was  fastened  a 
bamboo  cup  containing  a pair  of  exquisite 
blossoming  sprays  of  wistaria,  — one  pink  and 
the  other  white.  The  kakemono  — made 
with  a few  very  bold  strokes  by  a master- 


IN  OSAKA 


179 


brush  — pictured  two  enormous  crabs  about 
to  fight  after  vainly  trying  to  get  out  of  each 
other’s  way ; — and  the  humor  of  the  thing 
was  enhanced  by  a few  Chinese  characters 
signifying,  Woko-sekai,  or,  “ Everything  goes 
crookedly  in  this  world.” 

VII 

My  last  day  in  Osaka  was  given  to  shop- 
ping, — chiefly  in  the  districts  of  the  toy-mak- 
ers and  of  the  silk  merchants.  A Japanese 
acquaintance,  himself  a shopkeeper,  took  me 
about,  and  showed  me  extraordinary  things 
until  my  eyes  ached.  We  went  to  a famous 
silk-house,  — a tumultuous  place,  so  crowded 
that  we  had  some  trouble  to  squeeze  our  way 
to  the  floor-platform,  which,  in  every  Japanese 
shop,  serves  at  once  for  chairs  and  counter. 
Scores  of  barefooted  light-limbed  boys  were 
running  over  it,  bearing  bundles  of  merchan- 
dise to  customers  ; — for  in  such  shops  there 
is  no  shelving  of  stock.  The  Japanese  sales- 
man never  leaves  his  squatting-place  on  the 
mats ; but,  on  learning  what  you  want,  he 
shouts  an  order,  and  boys  presently  run  to 
you  with  armfuls  of  samples.  After  you  have 


180 


IN  OSAKA 


made  your  choice,  the  goods  are  rolled  up 
again  by  the  boys,  and  carried  back  into  the 
fire-proof  storehouses  behind  the  shop.  At 
the  time  of  our  visit,  the  greater  part  of  the 
matted  floor-space  was  one  splendid  shimmer- 
ing confusion  of  tossed  silks  and  velvets  of  a 
hundred  colors  and  a hundred  prices.  Near 
the  main  entrance  an  elderly  superintendent, 
plump  and  jovial  of  aspect  like  the  God 
of  Wealth,  looked  after  arriving  customers. 
Two  keen-eyed  men,  standing  upon  an  eleva- 
tion in  the  middle  of  the  shop,  and  slowly 
turning  round  and  round  in  opposite  direc- 
tions, kept  watch  for  thieves ; and  other 
watchers  were  posted  at  the  side  - doors. 
(Japanese  shop-thieves,  by  the  way,  are  very 
clever ; and  I am  told  that  nearly  every  large 
store  loses  considerably  by  them  in  the  course 
of  the  year.)  In  a side-wing  of  the  building, 
under  a low  skylight,  I saw  busy  ranks 
of  bookkeepers,  cashiers,  and  correspondents 
squatting  before  little  desks  less  than  two  feet 
high.  Each  of  the  numerous  salesmen  was 
attending  to  many  customers  at  once.  The 
rush  of  business  was  big ; and  the  rapidity 
with  which  the  work  was  being  done  testified 


IN  OSAKA 


181 


to  tlie  excellence  of  the  organization  estab- 
lished. I asked  how  many  persons  the  firm 
employed,  and  my  friend  replied : — 

“ Probably  about  two  hundred  here  ; there 
are  several  branch  houses.  In  this  shop  the 
work  is  very  hard ; but  the  working-hours  are 
shorter  than  in  most  of  the  silk-houses,  — not 
more  than  twelve  hours  a day.” 

“ What  about  salaries  ? ” I inquired. 

“ No  salaries.” 

“ Is  all  the  work  of  this  firm  done  without 

pay?” 

“ Perhaps  one  or  two  of  the  very  cleverest 
salesmen  may  get  something,  — not  exactly  a 
salary,  but  a little  special  remuneration  every 
month  ; and  the  old  superintendent  — (he  has 
been  forty  years  in  the  house)  — gets  a salary. 
The  rest  get  nothing  but  their  food.” 

“ Good  food  ? ” 

“ No,  very  cheap,  coarse  food.  After  a man 
has  served  his  time  here,  — fourteen  or  fifteen 
years,  — he  may  be  helped  to  open  a small 
store  of  his  own.” 

“Are  the  conditions  the  same  in  all  the 
shops  of  Osaka?” 

“ Yes,  — everywhere  the  same.  But  now 


182 


IN  OSAKA 


many  of  the  detchi  are  graduates  of  commer- 
cial schools.  Those  sent  to  a commercial 
school  begin  their  apprenticeship  much  later ; 
and  they  are  said  not  to  make  such  good 
detchi  as  those  taught  from  childhood.” 

“ A J apanese  clerk  in  a foreign  store  is 
much  better  off.” 

“ We  do  not  think  so,”  answered  my  friend 
very  positively.  “ Some  who  speak  English 
■well,  and  have  learned  the  foreign  way  of 
doing  business,  may  get  fifty  or  sixty  dollars 
a month  for  seven  or  eight  hours’  work  a day. 
But  they  are  not  treated  the  same  way  as 
they  are  treated  in  a Japanese  house.  Clever 
men  do  not  like  to  work  under  foreigners. 
Foreigners  used  to  be  very  cruel  to  their 
Japanese  clerks  and  servants.” 

“ But  not  now  ? ” I queried. 

“ Perhaps  not  often.  They  have  found  that 
it  is  dangerous.  But  they  used  to  beat  and 
kick  them.  Japanese  think  it  shameful  to 
even  speak  unkindly  to  detchi  or  servants. 
In  a house  like  this  there  is  no  unkindness. 
The  owners  and  the  superintendents  never 
speak  roughly.  You  see  how  very  hard  all 
these  men  and  boys  are  working  without  pay. 


IN  OSAKA 


188 


No  foreigner  could  get  Japanese  to  work  like 
tliat,  even  for  big  wages.  I have  worked  in 
foreign  bouses,  and  I know.” 

It  is  not  exaggeration  to  say  that  most  of 
tbe  intelligent  service  rendered  in  Japanese 
trade  and  skilled  industry  is  unsalaried.  Per- 
haps one  third  of  the  business  work  of  tbe 
country  is  done  without  wages ; the  relation 
between  master  and  servant  being  one  of  per- 
fect trust  on  both  sides,  and  absolute  obedi- 
ence being  assured  by  tbe  simplest  of  moral 
conditions.  This  fact  was  tbe  fact  most 
deeply  impressed  upon  me  during  my  stay  in 
Osaka. 

I found  myself  wondering  about  it  while 
tbe  eveniug  train  to  Nara  was  bearing  me 
away  from  tbe  cheery  turmoil  of  tbe  great 
metropolis.  I continued  to  think  of  it  while 
watching  tbe  deepening  of  tbe  dusk  over 
tbe  leagues  of  roofs,  — over  tbe  mustering  of 
factory  chimneys  forever  sending  up  their 
offering  of  smoke  to  tbe  shrine  of  good  Nin- 
toku.  Suddenly  above  tbe  out-twinkling  of 
countless  lamps,  — above  tbe  white  star-points 
of  electric  lights,  — above  tbe  growing  dusk 


184 


IN  OSAKA 


itself,  — I saw,  rising  glorified  into  the  last  red 
splendor  of  sunset,  the  marvelous  old  pagoda 
of  Tennoji.  And  I asked  myself  whether 
the  faith  it  symbolized  had  not  helped  to 
create  that  spirit  of  patience  and  love  and 
trust  upon  which  have  been  founded  all  the 
wealth  and  energy  and  power  of  the  migh- 
tiest city  of  Japan. 


VIII 

BUDDHIST  ALLUSIONS  IN  JAPANESE  FOLK- 
SONG 

Perhaps  only  a Japanese  representative 
of  tlie  older  culture  could  fully  inform  us  to 
what  degree  the  mental  soil  of  the  race  has 
been  saturated  and  fertilized  by  Buddhist 
idealism.  At  all  events,  no  European  could 
do  so ; for  to  understand  the  whole  relation  of 
Far-Eastern  religion  to  Far-Eastern  life  would 
require,  not  only  such  scholarship,  but  also 
such  experience  as  no  European  could  gain  in 
a lifetime.  Yet  for  even  the  Western  stranger 
there  are  everywhere  signs  of  what  Buddhism 
has  been  to  Japan  in  the  past.  All  the  arts 
and  most  of  the  industries  repeat  Buddhist 
legends  to  the  eye  ti’ained  in  symbolism  ; 
and  there  is  scarcely  an  object  of  handiwork 
possessing  any  beauty  or  significance  of  form 
— from  the  plaything  of  a child  to  the  heir- 
loom of  a prince  — which  does  not  in  some 


186 


BUDDHIST  ALLUSIONS 


way  proclaim  tlie  ancient  debt  to  Buddhism 
of  the  craft  that  made  it.  One  may  discern 
Buddhist  thoughts  in  the  cheap  cotton  prints 
from  an  Osaka  mill  not  less  than  in  the  fig- 
ured silks  of  Kyoto.  The  reliefs  upon  an 
iron  kettle,  or  the  elephant-heads  of  bronze 
making  the  handles  of  a shopkeeper’s  hiba- 
chi ; — the  patterns  of  screen-paper,  or  the 
commonest  ornamental  woodwork  of  a gate- 
way ; — the  etchings  upon  a metal  pipe,  or 
the  enameling  upon  a costly  vase,  — may  all 
relate,  with  equal  eloquence,  the  traditions 
of  faith.  There  are  reflections  or  echoes  of 
Buddhist  teaching  in  the  composition  of  a 
garden  ; — in  the  countless  ideographs  of  the 
long  vistas  of  shop-signs  ; — in  the  wonder- 
fully expressive  names  given  to  certain  fruits 
and  flowers  ; — in  the  appellations  of  moun- 
tains, capes,  waterfalls,  villages,  — even  of 
modern  railway  stations.  And  the  new  civil- 
ization would  not  yet  seem  to  have  much  af- 
fected the  influence  thus  manifested.  Trains 
and  steamers  now  yearly  carry  to  famous 
shrines  more  pilgrims  than  visited  them  ever 
before  in  a twelvemonth;  — the  temple  bells 
still,  in  despite  of  clocks  and  watches,  mark 


IN  JAPANESE  FOLK-SONG  187 


the  passing  of  time  for  the  millions  ; — the 
speech  of  the  people  is  still  poetized  with 
Buddhist  utterances  ; — literature  and  drama 
still  teem  with  Buddhist  expressions  ; — and 
the  most  ordinary  voices  of  the  street  — 
songs  of  children  playing,  a chorus  of  laborers 
at  their  toil,  even  cries  of  itinerant  street-ven- 
ders — often  recall  to  me  some  story  of  saints 
and  Bodliisattvas,  or  the  text  of  some  sutra. 

Such  an  experience  first  gave  me  the  idea 
of  making  a collection  of  songs  containing 
Buddhist  expressions  or  allusions.  But  in 
view  of  the  extent  of  the  subject  I could  not 
at  once  decide  where  to  begin.  A bewilder- 
ing variety  of  Japanese  songs  — a variety  of 
which  the  mere  nomenclature  would  occupy 
pages  — offers  material  of  this  description. 
Among  noteworthy  kinds  may  he  mentioned 
the  Utai,  dramatic  songs,  mostly  composed  by 
high  priests,  of  which  probably  no  ten  lines 
are  without  some  allusion  to  Buddhism ; — 
the  Naga-uta , songs  often  of  extraordinary 
length ; — and  the  Joruri , whole  romances  in 
verse,  with  whigh  professional  singers  can 
delight  their  audiences  for  five  or  six  hours  at 
a time.  The  mere  dimension  of  such  compo- 


188 


BUDDHIST  ALLUSIONS 


sitions  necessarily  excluded  them  from  my 
plan  ; but  there  remained  a legion  of  briefer 
forms  to  choose  among.  I resolved  at  last  to 
limit  my  undertaking  mainly  to  dodoitsu,  — 
little  songs  of  twenty-six  syllables  only,  ar- 
ranged in  four  lines  (7,  7,  7,  5).  They  are 
more  regular  in  construction  than  the  street- 
songs  treated  of  in  a former  paper ; but  they 
are  essentially  popular,  and  therefore  more 
widely  representative  of  Buddhist  influences 
than  many  superior  kinds  of  composition 
could  be.  Out  of  a very  large  number  col- 
lected for  me,  I have  selected  between  forty 
and  fifty  as  typical  of  the  class. 

Perhaps  those  pieces  which  reflect  the  ideas 
of  preexistence  and  of  future  rebirths  will 
prove  especially  interesting  to  the  Western 
reader,  — much  less  because  of  poetical  worth 
than  because  of  comparative  novelty.  We 
have  very  little  English  verse  of  any  class  con- 
taining fancies  of  this  kind ; but  they  swarm 
in  Japanese  poetry  even  as  commonplaces  and 
conventionalisms.  Such  an  exquisite  thing  as 
Kossetti’s  “ Sudden  Light,” — bewitching  us 
diiefly  through  the  penetrative  subtlety  of  a 


IN  JAPANESE  FOLK-SONG  189 


thought  anathematized  by  all  our  orthodoxies 
for  eighteen  hundred  years,  — could  interest 
a Japanese  only  as  the  exceptional  rendering, 
by  an  Occidental,  of  fancies  and  feelings  fa- 
miliar to  the  most  ignorant  peasant.  Cer- 
tainly no  one  will  be  able  to  find  in  these 
Japanese  verses  — or,  rather,  in  my  own 
wretchedly  prosy  translations  of  them  — even 
a hint  of  anything  like  the  ghostly  delicacy  of 
Rossetti’s  imagining : — 

I have  been  here  before,  — 

But  when  or  how  I cannot  tell : 

I know  the  grass  beyond  the  door, 

The  sweet,  keen  smell, 

The  sighing  sound,  the  lights  along  the  shore. 

You  have  been  mine  before,  — 

How  long  ago  I may  not  know  : 

But  just  when  at  that  swallow’s  soar 
Your  neck  turned  so, 

Some  veil  did  fall,  — I knew  it  all  of  yore. 

Yet  what  a queer  living  difference  be- 
tween such  enigmatically  delicate  handling 
of  thoughts  classed  as  forbidden  fruit  in  the 
Western  Eden  of  Dreams  and  the  every-day 
Japanese  utterances  that  spring  directly  out 
of  ancient  Eastern  faith  ! — 


190 


BUDDHIST  ALLUSIONS 


Love , it  is  often  said,  has  nothing  to  do  with  reason. 

The  cause  of  ours  must  be  some  En  in  a previous  birth.1 

Even  the  knot  of  the  rope  tying  our  boats  together 
Knotted  was  long  ago  by  some  love  in  a former  birth. 

If  the  touching  even  of  sleeves  be  through  En.  of  a former  ex- 
istence, 

Very  much  deeper  must  be  the  En  that  unites  us  now  ! 2 

Kwalio  3 this  life  must  be, — this  dwelling  with  one  so  tender  ; — 
I am  reaping  now  the  reward  of  deeds  in  a former  birth  ! 

1 Iro  wa  shian  no 
Hoka  to-wa  icklo, 

Kord  mo  saki-sho  no 

En  de  aro. 

“En”  is  a Buddhist  word  signifying  affinity, — relation 
of  cause  and  effect  from  life  to  life. 

2 Sodd  suri-o  no  mo 
Taslio  no  en  yo, 

Mashitd  futari  ga 

Fukai  naka. 

Allusion  is  here  made  to  the  old  Buddhist  proverb  : SodS 
no  furi-awase  mo  tasho  no  en, — “Even  the  touching  of 
sleeves  in  passing  is  caused  by  some  affinity  operating  from 
former  lives.” 

3  The  Buddhist  word  “ Kwalio  ” is  commonly  used  in- 
stead of  other  synonyms  for  Karma  (such  as  ingwa,  innen, 
etc.),  to  signify  the  good,  rather  than  the  bad  results  of 
action  in  previous  lives.  But  it  is  sometimes  used  in  both 
meanings.  Here  there  seems  to  be  an  allusion  to  the  pro- 
verbial expression,  Kwaho  no  yoi  hito  (lit. : a person  of  good 
Kwaho),  meaning  a fortunate  individual. 


IN  JAPANESE  FOLK-SONG  191 


Many  songs  of  this  class  refer  to  the  cus- 
tomary vow  which  lovers  make  to  belong  to 
each  other  for  more  lives  than  one,  — a vow 
perhaps  originally  inspired  by  the  Buddhist 
aphorism,  — 

Oya-ko  wa,  is-si; 

Fufu  wa,  ni-si; 

Shuju  wa,  san-zL 

“ The  relation  of  parent  and  child  is  for  one 
life  ; that  of  wife  and  husbaiid,  for  two  lives  ; 
that  of  master  and  servant,  for  three  lives.” 
Although  the  tender  relation  is  thus  limited 
to  the  time  of  two  lives,  the  vow  — (as  Japa- 
nese dramas  testify,  and  as  the  letters  of  those 
who  kill  themselves  for  love  bear  witness)  — 
is  often  passionately  made  for  seven.  The 
following  selections  show  a considerable  va- 
riety of  tone,  — ranging  from  the  pathetic  to 
the  satirical,  — in  the  treatment  of  this  topic : 

I have  cut  my  hair  for  his  sake;  but  the  deeper  relation  be- 
tween us 

Cannot  be  cut  in  this,  nor  yet  in  another  life. 1 

1 Kami  -wa  kitt4  mo 
Ni-sd  mad 4 kaketa 
Fukai  enishi  wa 

Kiru  mono  ka  ? 

Literally : “ Hair  have-cut  although,  two  existences  until, 


192  BUDDHIST  ALLUSIONS 

She  looks  at  the  portrait  of  him  to  whom  for  two  lives  she  is 
promised : 

Happy  remembrances  come , and  each  brings  a smile  to  her 
face.1 

If  in  this  present  life  we  never  can  hope  for  union, 

Then  we  shall  first  keep  house  in  the  Lotos-Palace  beyond ? 

Have  we  not  spoken  the  vow  that  binds  for  a double  existence  ? 
If  we  must  separate  now,  I can  only  wish  to  die. 

deep  relation,  cut-liow-can-it-be  ? ” By  the  mention  of  the 
hair-cutting  we  know  the  speaker  is  a woman.  Her  hus- 
band, or  possibly  betrothed  lover,  is  dead ; and,  according 
to  the  Buddhist  custom,  she  signifies  her  desire  to  remain 
faithful  to  his  memory  by  the  sacrifice  of  her  hair.  For 
detailed  information  on  this  subject  see,  in  my  Glimpses  of 
Unfamiliar  Japan,  the  chapter,  “ Of  Women’s  Hair.” 

1 N i-s4  to  chigirishi 
Shashin  wo  nagam<5 
Omoi-idashit4 

Warai-gao. 

Lit. : “ Two  existences  that  made  alliance,  photograph 
look-at,  thinking  bring-out  smiling  face.”  The  use  of  the 
term  shashin,  photograph,  shows  that  the  poem  is  not  old. 

2 Tot4mo  kono  yo  <14 
Sowar4-nu  naraba 
Hasu  no  ut4na  d4 

Ara  s4tai. 

Lit. : “ By-any-means,  this-world-in,  cannot-live-together 
if,  Lotos-of  Palace-in,  new-housekeeping.”  It  is  with  this 
thought  that  lovers  voluntarily  die  together ; and  the  song 
might  be  called  a song  of  joshi. 


IN  JAPANESE  FOLK-SONG  193 


There  ! — oh,  what  shall  we  do?  ..  . Pledged  for  a double 
existence,  — 

And  now,  as  we  sit  together,  the  string  of  the  samisen  snaps ! 1 

He  woos  by  teaching  the  Law  of  Cause  and  Effect  for  three 
lives. 

And  makes  a contract  for  two  — the  crafty-smiling  priest ! 2 

Every  mortal  has  lived  and  is  destined  to 
live  countless  lives ; yet  the  happy  moments 
of  any  single  existence  are  not  therefore  less 
precious  in  themselves : — 

Not  to  have  met  one  night  is  verily  cause  for  sorrow ; 

Since  twice  in  a single  birth  the  same  night  never  comes. 

But  even  as  a summer  unusually  warm  is  apt 
to  herald  a winter  of  exceptional  severity,  so 
too  much  happiness  in  this  life  may  signify 
great  suffering  in  the  next : — 

Always  I suffer  thus  ! . . . Methinks,  in  my  last  existence, 
Too  happy  I must  have  been,  — did  not  suffer  enough. 

Next  in  point  of  exotic  interest  to  the  songs 
expressing  belief  in  preexistence  and  rebirth, 
I think  I should  place  those  treating  of  the 

1 Among  singing-girls  it  is  believed  that  the  snapping  of 
a samisen-string  under  such  circumstances  as  those  indicated 
in  the  above  song  is  an  omen  of  coming  separation. 

2 This  song  is  of  a priest  who  breaks  the  vow  of  celibacy. 


194 


BUDDHIST  ALLUSIONS 


doctrine  of  ingwa , or  Karma.  I offer  some 
free  translations  from  these,  together  with  one 
selection  from  a class  of  compositions  more 
elaborate  and  usually  much  longer  than  the 
dodoitsu,  called  hauta.  In  the  original,  at 
least,  my  selection  from  the  hauta  — which 
contains  a charming  simile  about  the  firefly 
— is  by  far  the  prettiest : — 

Weep  not ! — turn  to  me  ! . . . Nay,  all  my  suspicions  vanish  ! 
Forgive  me  those  words  unkind  : some  ingwa  controlled  my 
tongue  ! 

Evidently  this  is  the  remorseful  pleading  of  a 
jealous  lover.  The  next  might  he  the  answer 
of  the  girl  whose  tears  he  had  caused  to  flow : 

I cannot  imagine  at  all  by  what  strange  manner  of  ingwa 
Came  I to  fall  in  love  with  one  so  unkind  as  you  ! 

Or  she  might  exclaim  : — 

Is  this  the  turning  of  En  ? — am  I caught  in  the  Wheel  of 
Karma  ? 

That,  alas  ! is  a wheel  not  to  be  moved  from  the  rut ! 1 

1 Meguru  en  kaya  ? 

Kuruma  no  wataski 
Hiku  ni  liikar^nu 
Kono  ingwa. 

There  is  a play  on  words  in  the  original  which  I have  not 
attempted  to  render.  The  idea  is  of  an  unhappy  match  — 


IN  JAPANESE  FOLK-SONG  195 

A more  remarkable  reference  to  tlie  Wheel 
of  Karma  is  tlie  following : — 

Father  and  mother  forbade , and  so  I gave  up  my  lover  ; — 

Yet  still,  with  the  whirl  of  the  Wheel,  the  thought  of  him  comes 
and  goes.1 

This  is  a hauta  : — 

Numberless  insects  there  are  that  call  from  dawn  to  evening, 
Crying,  “ I love  ! I love  ! ” — but  the  Firefly's  silent  passion, 
Making  its  body  burn,  is  deeper  than  all  their  longing. 

Even  such  is  my  love  . . . yet  I cannot  think  through  what  ingwa 
I opened  my  heart  — alas  ! — to  a being  not  sincere  ! 2 

either  betrothal  or  marriage  — from  which  the  woman 
wishes  to  withdraw  when  too  late. 

1 Oya  no  iken  dd 
Akirameta  no  wo 
Mata  mo  rin-yd  d<5 

Omoi-dasu. 

The  Buddhist  word  Rin-y6,  or  llinten,  has  the  meaning  of 
“turning  the  Wheel,”  — another  expression  for  passing 
from  birth  to  birth.  The  Wheel  here  is  the  great  Circle  of 
Illusion,  — the  whirl  of  Karma. 

2 Kaiii,  kaai  to 
Naku  mushi  yori  mo 
Nakanu  hotaru  ga 
Mi  wo  kogasu. 

Nanno  ingwa  d£ 

Jitsu  naki  liito  ni 
Shin  wo  akashitd, — 

Aa  kuyashi ! 

Lit. : I-love-I-love  ’-saying-cry-inseets  than,  better 


196 


BUDDHIST  ALLUSIONS 


If  the  foregoing  seem  productions  possible 
only  to  our  psychological  antipodes,  it  is  quite 
otherwise  with  a group  of  folk-songs  reflecting 
the  doctrine  of  Impermanency.  Concerning 
the  instability  of  all  material  things,  and  the 
hollowness  of  all  earthly  pleasures,  Christian 
and  Buddhist  thought  are  very  much  in  ac- 
cord. The  great  difference  between  them  ap- 
pears only  when  we  compare  their  teaching 
as  to  things  ghostly,  — and  especially  as  to 
the  nature  of  the  Ego.  But  the  Oriental  doc- 
trine that  the  Ego  itself  is  an  impermanent 
compound,  and  that  the  Self  is  not  the  true 
Consciousness,  rarely  finds  expression  in  these 
popular  songs.  For  the  common  people  the 
Self  exists : it  is  a real  (though  multiple) 
personality  that  passes  from  birth  to  birth. 
Only  the  educated  Buddhist  comprehends  the 
deeper  teaching  that  what  we  imagine  to  be 
Self  is  wholly  illusion,  — a darkening  veil 
woven  by  Karma ; and  that  there  is  no  Self 
but  the  Infinite  Self,  the  eternal  Absolute. 

never-cry-firefly,  body  scorch  ! Wliat  Karma  because-of, 
sincerity-not-is-man  to,  inmost-mind  opened  ? — ah  ! re- 
gret ! ”...  It  was  formerly  believed  that  the  firefly’s 
light  really  burned  its  own  body. 


IN  JAPANESE  FOLK-SONG  197 


In  the  following  dodoitsu  will  be  found 
mostly  thoughts  or  emotions  according  with 
universal  experience : — 

Gathering  clouds  to  the  moon  ; — storm  and  rain  to  the  flowers : 
Somehow  this  world  of  woe  never  is  just  as  we  liked 

Almost  as  soon  as  they  bloom , the  scented  flowers  of  the  plum- 
tree 

By  the  wind  of  this  world  of  change  are  scattered  and  blown 
away. 

Thinking  to-morrow  remains,  thou  heart's  frail  flower-of -cherry  ? 
How  knowest  whether  this  night  the  tempest  will  not  come  ?2 

1 Tsuki  ni  murakumo, 

Hana  ni  wa  arashi : 

Tokaku  uki-yo  wa 
Mama  naranu. 

This  song  especially  refers  to  unhappy  love,  and  contains 
the  substance  of  two  Buddhist  proverbs  : Tsuki  ni  mura- 
kumo, hana  ni  kazi  (cloud-masses  to  the  moon ; wind  to 
flowers)  ; and  Mama  ni  naranu  wa  uki-yo  no  narai  (to  be 
disappointed  is  the  rule  in  this  miserable  world).  “ Uki-yo  ” 
(this  fleeting  or  unhappy  world)  is  one  of  the  commonest 
Buddhist  terms  in  use. 

2 Asu  ari  to 
Omo  kokoro  no 
Ada-zakura : 

To  wa  ni  arashi  no 
Fukanu  monokawa  ? 

Lit. : “To-morrow-isthat  think  heart-of  perishable-cherry 
flower : this-night-in-storm  blow-not,  is-it-certain  ? ” 


198 


BUDDHIST  ALLUSIONS 


Shadow  and  shape  alike  melt  and  flow  back  to  nothing  : 

He  who  knows  this  truth  is  the  Daruma  of  snow. l 

As  the  moon  of  the  fifteenth  night , the  heart  till  the  age  fifteen  : 
Then  the  brightness  wanes,  and  the  darkness  comes  with  love.2 

All  things  change,  we  are  told,  in  this  world  of  change  and 
sorrow  ; 

But  love's  way  never  changes  of  promising  never  to  change? 

1  Kag£  mo  katachi  mo 
Kiyur4ba  moto  no 
Midzu  to  satoru  zo 

Yuki-Daruma. 

Lit. : “ Shadow  and  shape  also,  if-melt-away,  original- 
water  is,  — tbat-understands  Snow-Daruma.”  Daruma 
(Dbarma),  the  twenty-eighth  patriarch  of  the  Zen  sect,  is 
said  to  have  lost  his  legs  through  remaining  long  in  the 
posture  of  meditation ; and  many  legless  toy-figures,  which 
are  so  balanced  that  they  will  always  assume  an  upright 
position  however  often  placed  upside-down,  are  called  by 
his  name.  The  snow-men  made  by  Japanese  children  have 
the  same  traditional  form.  — The  Japanese  friend  who 
helped  me  to  translate  these  verses,  tells  me  that  a ghostly 
meaning  attaches  to  the  word  “ Kag4  ” [shadow]  in  the 
above ; — this  would  give  a much  more  profound  signifi- 
cation to  the  whole  verse. 

2  According  to  the  old  calendar,  there  was  always  a fixll 
moon  on  the  fifteenth  of  the  month.  The  Buddhist  allusion 
in  the  verse  is  to  mayoi,  the  illusion  of  passion,  which  is 
compared  to  a darkness  concealing  the  Right  Way. 

3  Kawaru  uki-yo  ni 
Kawaranu  mono  wa 


IN  JAPANESE  FOLK-SONG  199 


Cruel  the  beautiful  flash, — utterly  heartless  that  lightning  ! 
Before  one  can  look  even  twice  it  vanishes  wholly  away  .' 1 

His  very  sweetness  itself  makes  my  existence  a burden 
Truly  this  world  of  change  is  a world  of  constant  woe  ! 2 

Neither  for  youth  nor  age  is  fixed  the  life  of  the  body ; — 
Bidding  me  wait  for  a time  is  the  word  that  forever  divides? 

Kawarumai  to  no 

Koi  no  miclii. 

Lit. : “ Change  changeable-world-in,  does-not-change  that- 
which,  ‘ W e-will-never-change  '-saying  of  Love-of  Way.” 

1  Honni  tsurdnai 
Ano  inadzuma  n a 
Futa  md  minn  uehi 
Kiy^td  yuku. 

The  Buddhist  saying.  Inadzuma  no  hikari,  ishi  no  hi 
(lightning-flash  and  flint-spark),  — symbolizing  the  tem- 
porary nature  of  all  pleasures,  — is  here  playfully  referred 
to.  The  song  complains  of  a too  brief  meeting  with  sweet- 
heart or  lover. 

2  Words  of  a loving  hut  jealous  woman,  thus  interpreted 
by  my  Japanese  friend:  “The  more  kind  he  is.  the  more 
his  kindness  overwhelms  me  with  anxiety  lest  he  be  equally 
tender  to  other  girls  who  may  also  fall  in  love  with  him.” 

3  Ro-sho  fujo  no 
Mi  d4  ari  nagara, 

Jisetsu  matd  to  wa 
Kir4-kotoba. 

Lit. : “ Old-young  not-fixed-of  body  being,  time-wait  to- 
say,  cutting-word.”  " Ros-ho  fujo”  is  a Buddhist  phrase. 
The  meaning  of  the  song  is : “ Since  all  things  in  this 


200 


BUDDHIST  ALLUSIONS 


Only  too  well  I know  that  to  meet  will  cause  more  weeping  ;x 
Yet  never  to  meet  at  all  were  sorrow  too  great  to  hear. 

Too  joyful  in  union  to  think , we  forget  that  the  smiles  of  the 
evening 

Sometimes  themselves  become  the  sources  of  morning-tears. 

Yet,  notwithstanding  the  doctrine  of  imper- 
manency,  we  are  told  in  another  dodoitsu 
that  — 

He  who  was  never  bewitched  by  the  charming  smile  of  a woman, 
A wooden  Buddha  is  he  — a Buddha  of  bronze  or  stone  ! 2 

And  why  a Buddha  of  wood,  or  bronze,  or 
stone?  Because  the  living  Buddha  was  not 

world  are  uncertain,  asking  me  to  wait  for  our  marriage- 
day  means  that  you  do  not  really  love  me ; — for  eitheis  of 
us  might  die  before  the  time  you  speak  of.” 

1 Allusion  is  made  to  the  Buddhist  text,  Shoja  hitsu 
metsu,  esha  jo  ri  (“  Whosoever  is  born  must  die,  and  all 
who  meet  must  as  surely  part”),  and  to  the  religious 
phrase,  Ai  betsu  ri  ku  (“  Sorrow  of  parting  and  pain  of 
separation  ”). 

2 Much  more  amusing  in  the  original : — 

Adana  4-gao  ni 
Mayowanu  mono  wa 
Ki-Butsu,  — kana-Butsu,  — 
lslii-botok<5 ! 

“ Charming-smile-by  bewildered-not,  he-as-for,  wood- 
Buddha,  metal-Buddha,  stone-Buddha  ! ” The  term  “ Islii- 
botokd  ” especially  refers  to  the  stone  images  of  the  Buddha 


IN  JAPANESE  FOLK-SONG  201 


so  insensible,  as  we  are  assured,  with  jocose 
irreverence,  in  the  following  : — 

“ Forsake  this  Jitful  world  ” ! — 

( Lord  Buddha's  ) 

that  was  < or  > teaching  ! 

( upside-down  ) 

And  RagoraJ  son  of  his  loins  ? — was  he  forgotten  indeed  ? 

There  is  an  untranslatable  pun  in  the  ori- 
ginal, which,  if  written  in  Eomaji,  would  run 
thus : — 

TTki-yo  wo  sut^yo  t’a 

c,  ( Shaka  Sama  ) 
oorya  •;  . > yo : 

J l saka-sama  ) J 

Ragora  to  iu  ko  wo 

Wasur^td  ka  ? 

ShaJcamuni  is  the  Japanese  rendering  of 
“ Sakyamuni ; ” “ Shaka  Sama  ” is  therefore 
“ Lord  Sakya,”  or  “ Lord  Buddha.”  But 
saJca-sama  is  a Japanese  word  meaning 
“ topsy-tur\y,”  “ upside  down  ; ” and  the  dif- 
ference between  the  pronunciation  of  Shaka 
Sama  and  saka-sama  is  slight  enough  to  have 
suggested  the  pun.  Love  in  suspense  is  not 
usually  inclined  to  reverence. 

placed  in  cemeteries.  — This  song  is  sung  in  every  part  of 
Japan;  I have  heard  it  many  times  in  different  places. 

1 Rahida. 


202 


BUDDHIST  ALLUSIONS 


Even  while  praying  together  in  front  of  the  tablets  ancestral, 
Lovers  find  chance  to  murmur  prayers  never  meant  for  the 
dead  ! 1 

And  as  for  interrupters  : — 

Hateful  the  wind  or  rain  that  ruins  the  bloom  of flowers: 
Even  more  hateful  far  who  obstructs  the  way  of  love. 

Yet  tlie  help  of  the  Gods  is  earnestly  be- 
sought : — 

I malce  my  hyaku-do,  traveling  Love's  dark  pathway, 

Ever  praying  to  meet  the  owner  of  my  heart  ? 

1 Eko  suru  totd 
Hotokd  no  ma<5  y6 
Futari  mukait6, 

Konabd  datd 

Lit. : “ Repeat  prayers  saying,  dead-of -presence-in  twain 
facing,  — small-pan  cooking  ! ” Hotoki  means  a dead 
person  as  well  as  a Buddha.  (See  my  Glimpses  of  Unfa- 
miliar Japan:  “ The  Household  Shrine”).  KonabOdatS  is 
an  idiomatic  expression  signifying  a lovers’  tete-il-tete.  It  is 
derived  from  the  phrase,  Chin-chin  kamo  nab6  (“cooking 
a wild  duck  in  a pan”),  — the  idea  suggested  being  that  of 
the  pleasure  experienced  by  an  amorous  couple  in  eating  out 
of  the  same  dish.  Chin-chin,  an  onomatope,  expresses  the 
sound  of  the  gravy  boiling. 

2 To  perform  the  rite  called  “o-hyaku-do”  means  to 
make  one  hundred  visits  to  a temple,  saying  a prayer  each 
time.  The  expression  “ dark  way  of  Love  ” (koi  no  yami  or 
yamiji ) is  a Buddhist  phrase  ; love,  being  due  to  mayoi,  or 


IN  JAPANESE  FOLK-SONG  203 


The  interest  attaching  to  the  following  typi- 
cal group  of  love-songs  will  be  found  to  de- 
pend chiefly  upon  the  Buddhist  allusions  : — 

In  the  bed  of  the  River  of  Souls , or  in  waiting  alone  at  evening , 
The  pain  differs  nothing  at  all : to  a mountain  the  pebble  grows! 

Who  furthest  after  illusion  wanders  on  Love's  dark  pathway 
Is  ever  the  clearest-seeing ,'2  not  the  simple  or  dull. 

illusion,  is  a state  of  spiritual  darkness.  The  term  “ owner 
of  my  heart”  is  an  attempted  rendering  of  the  Japanese 
word  nushi,  signifying  “master,”  “owner,” — often,  also, 
“landlord,” — and,  in  love-matters,  the  lord  or  master  of 
the  affection  inspired. 

1 Sai-no-kawara  to 
Nushi  matsu  yoi  wa 
Koishi,  koishi  ga 
Yama  to  naru. 

A more  literal  translation  would  he  : “ In  the  Sai-no- 
Kawara  (‘  Dry  bed  of  the  River  of  Souls ')  and  in  the  evening 
when  waiting  for  the  loved  one,  1 Koishi,  Koishi  ’ becomes  a 
mountain.”  There  is  a delicate  pun  here,  — a play  on  the 
word  Koishi,  which,  as  pronounced,  though  not  as  written, 
may  mean  either  “ a small  stone,”  or  “longing  to  see.”  In 
the  bed  of  the  phantom  river,  Sai-no-Kawa,  the  ghosts  of 
children  are  obliged  to  pile  up  little  stones,  the  weight  of 
which  increases  so  as  to  tax  their  strength  to  the  utmost. 
There  is  a reference  here  also  to  a verse  in  the  Buddhist 
wasan  of  Jizo,  describing  the  crying  of  the  children  for  their 
parents:  “ Chichi  koishi!  haha  koishi ! ” (See  Glimpses  of 
Unfamiliar  Japan,  vol.  i.  pp.  59-61.) 

2 Clearest-sighted,  — that  is,  in  worldly  matters. 


204 


BUDDHIST  ALLUSIONS 


Coldly  seen  from  without  our  love  looks  utter  folly : 

Mho  never  has  felt  mayoi  never  could  understand  ! 

Countless  the  men  must  be  who  dwell  in  three  thousand  worlds  ; 
Yet  among  them  all  is  none  worthy  to  change  for  mine.1 

However  fickle  I seem , my  heart  is  never  unfaithful  : 

Out  of  the  slime  itself,  spotless  the  lotos  grows.2 

So  that  we  stay  together,  even  the  Hell  of  the  Blood  Lake  — 
Even  the  Mountain  of  Swords  — will  signif  tj  nothing  at  all? 

1  San-zen  s<?kai  ni 
Otoko  wa  arddo, 

Nushi  ni  mi-kayeru 
Hito  wa  nai. 

“San-zen  sekai,”  the  three  thousand  worlds,  is  a common 
Buddhist  expression.  Literally  translated,  the  above  song 
runs : “ Three-thousand-worlds-in  men  are,  but  lover-to- 
exehange  person  is  not.” 

2  The  familiar  Buddhist  simile  is  used  more  significantly 
here  than  the  Western  reader  might  suppose  from  the 
above  rendering.  These  are  supposed  to  be  the  words 
either  of  a professional  singing-girl  or  of  a joro.  Her  call- 
ing is  derisively  termed  a doro-midzu  kagyo  (“  foul-water 
occupation”);  and  her  citation  of  the  famous  Buddhist 
comparison  in  self-defense  is  particularly,  and  pathetically, 
happy. 

3  Chi-no-Ik^-Jigoku  mo, 

Tsurugi-no-Yama  mo, 

Futari-dzur4  nara 
Itoi  ’a  s^nu. 

The  Hell  of  the  Blood-Lake  is  a hell  for  women ; and 
the  Mountain  of  Swords  is  usually  depicted  in  Buddhist 


IN  JAPANESE  FOLK-SONG  205 


Not  yet  indeed  is  my  body  garbed  in  the  ink-black  habit ; — 
But  as  for  this  heart  bereaved , already  it  is  a nun.1 

My  hair,  indeed,  is  uncut ; but  my  heart  has  become  a religious; 
A nun  it  shall  always  be  till  the  hour  I meet  him  again. 

But  even  tlie  priest  or  nun  is  not  always  ex- 
empt from  the  power  of  mayoi : — 

I am  wearing  the  sable  garb,  — and  yet,  through  illusion  of 
longing, 

Ever  I lose  my  way,  — knowing  not  whither  or  where  ! 

So  far,  my  examples  have  been  principally 
chosen  from  the  more  serious  class  of  dodoitsu. 
But  in  dodoitsu  of  a lighter  class  the  Buddhist 
allusions  are  perhaps  even  more  frequent. 
The  following  group  of  five  will  serve  for 
specimens  of  hundreds  : — 

prints  as  a place  of  infernal  punishment  for  men  in  espe- 
cial. 

1 In  the  original  much  more  pretty  and  much  more 
simple : — 

Sumi  no  koromo  ni 
Mi  wa  yatsusanedo, 

Kokoro  kitotsu  wa 
Ama-koshi. 

“ Ink-black-I'oromo  [priest’s  or  nun’s  outer  robe]  in,  body 
not  clad,  but  heart-one  nun.”  Hitotsu,  “one,”  also  means 
“solitary,”  “forlorn,”  “bereaved.”  Ama  hoshi,  lit.:  “nun- 
priest.” 


206 


BUDDHIST  ALLUSIONS 


Never  can  be  recalled  the  word  too  quickly  spoken: 

Therefore  with  Emma's  face  the  lover  receives  the  prayer  I 

Thrice  did  I hear  that  prayer  with  Buddha's  face;  but  hereof 
ter 

My  face  shall  be  Emma's  face  because  of  too  many  prayers. 

Now  they  are  merry  together ; but  under  their  boat  is  Jigoku.2 
Blow  quickly , thou  river-wind,  — blow  a typhoon  for  my 
sake  ! 

Vainly,  to  make  him  stay,  I said  that  the  crows  were  night 
crows  ; 3 — 

The  bell  of  the  dawn  peals  doom,  — the  bell  that  cannot  lie. 

1 The  implication  is  that  he  has  hastily  promised  more 
than  he  wishes  to  perform.  Emma,  or  Yemma  (Sansc. 
Yarna),  is  the  Lord  of  Hell  and  Judge  of  Souls;  and,  as 
depicted  in  Buddhist  sculpture  and  painting,  is  more  than 
fearful  to  look  upon.  There  is  an  evident  reference  in  this 
song  to  the  Buddhist  proverb:  Karu-toki  no  Jizo-gao;  nasu- 
toki  no  Emma-gao  (“  Borrowing-time,  the  face  of  Jizo ; re- 
paying-time, the  face  of  Emma”). 

2 “Jigoku”  is  the  Buddhist  name  for  various  hells 
(Sansc.  narakas).  The  allusion  here  is  to  the  proverb, 
Funa-ita  ichi-mai  shita  wa  Jigoku:  “Under  [the  thickness 
of]  a single  boat-plank  is  hell,”  — referring  to  the  perils  of 
the  sea.  This  song  is  a satire  on  jealousy;  and  the  boat 
spoken  of  is  probably  a roofed  pleasure-boat,  such  as  excur- 
sions are  made  into  the  sound  of  music. 

3 Tsuki-yo-garasu,  lit. : “ moon-night  crows.”  Crows  usu- 
ally announce  the  dawn  by  their  cawing ; but  sometimes  on 
moonlight  nights  they  caw  at  all  hours  from  sunset  to  sun- 


IN  JAPANESE  FOLK-SONG  207 

This  my  desire : To  kill  the  crows  of  three  thousand  worlds, 

And  then  to  repose  in  peace  with  the  owner  of  my  heart  ! 1 

I have  cited  this  last  only  as  a curiosity. 
For  it  has  a strange  history,  and  is  not  what 
it  seems,  — although  the  apparent  motive  was 
certainly  suggested  by  some  song  like  the  one 
immediately  preceding  it.  It  is  a song  of 
loyalty,  and  was  composed  by  Kido  of  Cho- 
shu,  one  of  the  leaders  in  that  great  move- 
ment which  brought  about  the  downfall  of  the 
Shogunate,  the  restoration  of  the  Imperial 
power,  the  reconstruction  of  Japanese  society, 
and  the  introduction  and  adoption  of  Western 
civilization.  Kido,  Saigo,  and  Okubo  are 
rightly  termed  the  three  heroes  of  the  restora- 
tion. While  preparing  his  plans  at  Kyoto,  in 
company  with  his  friend  Saigo,  Kido  corn- 


rise.  The  bell  referred  to  is  the  bell  of  some  Buddhist 
temple  : the  aki-no-kane , or  “ dawn-bell,”  being,  in  all  parts 
of  Japan,  sounded  from  every  Buddhist  tera.  There  is  a 
pun  in  the  original ; — the  expression  tsukenai,  “ cannot  tell 
[a  lie],”  might  also  be  interpreted  phonetically  as  “ cannot 
strike  [a  bell].” 

1 San-zen  s^kai  no 
Karasu  wo  koroshi 
Nuski  to  soi-n4  ga 
Shitri  mitai ! 


208 


BUDDHIST  ALLUSIONS 


posed  and  sang  tliis  song  as  an  intimation  of 
his  real  sentiments.  By  the  phrase,  “ ravens 
of  the  three  thousand  worlds,”  he  designated 
the  Tokugawa  partisans  ; by  the  word  nushi 
(lord,  or  heart’s-master)  he  signified  the  Em- 
peror ; and  by  the  term  soine  (reposing  to- 
gether) he  referred  to  the  hoped-for  condition 
of  direct  responsibility  to  the  Throne,  without 
further  intervention  of  Shogun  and  daimyo. 
It  was  not  the  first  example  in  Japanese  his- 
tory of  the  use  of  popular  song  as  a medium 
for  the  utterance  of  opinions  which,  expressed 
in  plainer  language,  would  have  invited  assas- 
sination. 

While  I was  writing  the  preceding  note 
upon  Kido’s  song,  the  Buddhist  phrase,  San- 
zen  sekai  (twice  occurring,  as  the  reader  will 
have  observed,  in  the  present  collection),  sug- 
gested a few  reflections  with  which  this  paper 
may  fitly  conclude.  I remember  that  when  I 
first  attempted,  years  ago,  to  learn  the  out- 
lines of  Buddhist  philosophy,  one  fact  which 
particularly  impressed  me  was  the  vastness  of 
the  Buddhist  concept  of  the  universe.  Bud- 
dhism, as  I read  it,  had  not  offered  itself  to 


IN  JAPANESE  FOLK-SONG  209 


humanity  as  a saving  creed  for  one  inhabited 
world,  but  as  the  religion  of  “ innumerable 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  myriads  of  kbtis  1 of 
worlds.”  And  the  modern  scientific  revela- 
tion of  stellar  evolution  and  dissolution  then 
seemed  to  me,  and  still  seems,  like  a prodi- 
gious confirmation  of  certain  Buddhist  theo- 
ries of  cosmical  law. 

The  man  of  science  to-day  cannot  ignore  the 
enormous  suggestions  of  the  new  story  that 
the  heavens  are  telling.  He  finds  himself 
compelled  to  regard  the  development  of  what 
we  call  mind  as  a general  phase  or  incident 
in  the  ripening  of  planetary  life  throughout 
the  universe.  He  is  obliged  to  consider  the 
relation  of  our  own  petty  sphere  to  the  great 
swarming  of  suns  and  systems  as  no  more 
than  the  relation  of  a single  noctiluca  to  the 
phosphorescence  of  a sea.  By  its  creed  the 
Oriental  intellect  has  been  better  prepared 
than  the  Occidental  to  accept  this  tremendous 
revelation,  not  as  a wisdom  that  increaseth 
sorrow,  but  as  a wisdom  to  quicken  faith. 
And  I cannot  but  think  that  out  of  the 
certain  future  union  of  Western  knowledge 
1 1 koti  = 10,000,000. 


210  BUDDHIST  ALLUSIONS  IN  FOLK-SONG 


with  Eastern  thought  there  must  eventually 
proceed  a Neo-Buddhism  inheriting  all  the 
strength  of  Science,  yet  spiritually  able  to 
recompense  the  seeker  after  truth  with  the 
recompense  foretold  in  the  twelfth  chapter  of 
the  Sutra  of  the  Diamond-Cutter.  Taking 
the  text  as  it  stands,  — in  despite  of  commen- 
tators, — what  more  could  be  unselfishly  de- 
sired from  any  spiritual  teaching  than  the 
reward  promised  in  that  verse,  — “ They  shall 
he  endowed  with  the  Highest  Wonder  ” t 


IX 


NIRVANA 

A STUDY  IN  SYNTHETIC  BUDDHISM 

I 

“ It  is  not  possible,  0 Subhuti,  that  this  treatise  of  the 
Law  should  be  heard  by  beings  of  little  faith,  — by  those 
who  believe  in  Self,  in  beings,  in  living  beings,  and  in  per- 
sons.” — The  Diamond-Cutter. 

There  still  widely  prevails  in  Europe  and 
America  tlie  idea  that  Nirvana  signifies,  to 
Buddhist  minds,  neither  more  nor  less  than 
absolute  nothingness,  — complete  annihilation. 
This  idea  is  erroneous.  But  it  is  erroneous 
only  because  it  contains  half  of  a truth.  This 
half  of  a truth  has  no  value  or  interest,  or 
even  intelligibility,  unless  joined  with  the  other 
half.  And  of  the  other  half  no  suspicion  yet 
exists  in  the  average  Western  mind. 

Nirvana,  indeed,  signifies  an  extinction.  But 
if  by  this  extinction  of  individual  being  we 
understand  soul-death,  our  conception  of  Nir- 


212 


NIRVANA 


vana  is  wrong.  Or  if  we  take  Nirvana  to 
mean  such  reabsorption  of  the  finite  into  the 
infinite  as  that  predicted  by  Indian  panthe- 
ism, again  our  idea  is  foreign  to  Buddhism. 

Nevertheless,  if  we  declare  that  Nirvana 
means  the  extinction  of  individual  sensation, 
emotion,  thought,  — the  final  disintegration 
of  conscious  personality,  — the  annihilation  of 
everything  that  can  be  included  under  the 
term  “ I,”  — then  we  rightly  express  one  side 
of  the  Buddhist  teaching. 

The  apparent  contradiction  of  the  forego- 
ing statements  is  due  only  to  our  Occidental 
notion  of  Self.  Self  to  us  signifies  feelings, 
ideas,  memory,  volition  ; and  it  can  scarcely 
occur  to  any  person  not  familiar  with  German 
idealism  even  to  imagine  that  consciousness 
might  not  be  Self.  The  Buddhist,  on  the  con- 
trary, declares  all  that  we  call  Self  to  be  false. 
He  defines  the  Ego  as  a mere  temporary  ag- 
gregate of  sensations,  impulses,  ideas,  created 
by  the  physical  and  mental  experiences  of  the 
race,  — all  related  to  the  perishable  body, 
and  all  doomed  to  dissolve  with  it.  What  to 
W estern  reasoning  seems  the  most  indubitable 


NIRVANA 


213 


of  realities,  Buddhist  reasoning  pronounces 
the  greatest  of  all  illusions,  and  even  the 
source  of  all  sorrow  and  sin.  “ Th,e  mind, 
the  thoughts,  and  all  the  senses  are  subject 
to  the  law  of  life  and  death.  With  know- 
ledge of  Self  and,  the  laws  of  birth  and  death, 
there  is  no  grasping,  and  no  sense-perception. 
Knowing  one's  self  and  knowing  how  the 
senses  act,  there  is  no  room  for  the  idea  of 
or  the  ground,  for  framing  it.  The  thought 
of  ‘ Self  ’ gives  rise  to  all  sorrows,  — binding 
the  world  as  with  fetters  ; but  having  found 
there  is  no  ‘ I'  that  can  be  bound,  then  all 
these  bonds  are  severed 1 

The  above  text  suggests  very  plainly  that 
the  consciousness  is  not  the  Real  Self,  and  that 
the  mind  dies  with  the  body.  Any  reader 
unfamiliar  with  Buddhist  thought  may  well 
ask,  “ What,  then,  is  the  meaning  of  the  doc- 
trine of  Ivarma,  the  doctrine  of  moral  pro- 
gression, the  doctrine  of  the  consequence  of 
acts  ? ” Indeed,  to  try  to  study,  only  with  the 
ontological  ideas  of  the  W est,  even  such  trans- 
lations of  the  Buddhist  Sutras  as  those  given 
in  the  “ Sacred  Books  of  the  East,”  is  to  be 

1 Fo-Sho-Hing-Tsan-King. 


214 


NIRVANA 


at  every  page  confronted  by  seemingly  hope- 
less riddles  and  contradictions.  We  find  a 
doctrine  of  rebirth  ; but  the  existence  of  a 
soul  is  denied.  We  are  told  that  the  mis- 
fortunes of  this  life  are  punishments  of  faults 
committed  in  a previous  life ; yet  personal 
transmigration  does  not  take  place.  We  find 
the  statement  that  beings  are  reindividual- 
ized ; yet  both  individuality  and  personality 
are  called  illusions.  I doubt  whether  any- 
body not  acquainted  with  the  deeper  forms  of 
Buddhist  belief  could  possibly  understand  the 
following  extracts  which  I have  made  from 
the  first  volume  of  “The  Questions  of  King 
Milinda — 

The  King  said : “ Nagasena,  is  there  any  one 
who  after  death  is  not  reindividualized?”  Naga- 
sena answered : “ A sinful  being  is  reindividual- 
ized ; a sinless  one  is  not.”  (p.  50.) 

“ Is  there,  Nagasena,  such  a thing  as  the  soul  ? ” 
“ There  is  no  such  thing  as  soul.”  (pp.  86-89.) 
[The  same  statement  is  repeated  in  a later  chapter 
(p.  Ill),  with  a qualification : “ In  the  highest 
sense,  0 King,  there  is  no  such  thing.”] 

“ Is  there  any  being,  Nagasena,  who  transmi- 
grates from  this  body  to  another?”  “No:  there 
is  not.”  (p.  112.) 


NIRVANA 


215 


“ Where  there  is  no  transmigration,  Nagasena, 
can  there  be  rebirth  ? ” “ Yes : there  can.” 

“ Does  he,  Nagasena,  who  is  about  to  be  reborn, 
know  that  he  will  be  reborn  ? ” “ Yes  : he  knows 

it,  0 King.”  (p.  113.) 

Naturally  the  Western  reader  may  ask, — 
“ How  can  there  he  reindividualization  with- 
out a soul  ? How  can  there  be  rebirth  without 
transmigration  ? How  can  there  be  personal 
foreknowledge  of  rebirth  without  personal- 
ity ? ” But  the  answers  to  such  questions 
will  not  be  found  in  the  wToi'k  cited. 

It  woidd  be  wrong  to  suppose  that  the  cita- 
tions given  offer  any  exceptional  difficulty. 
As  to  the  doctrine  of  the  annihilation  of  Self, 
the  testimony  of  nearly  all  those  Buddhist 
texts  now  accessible  to  English  readers  is 
overwhelming.  Perhaps  the  Sutra  of  the 
Great  Decease  furnishes  the  most  remarkable 
evidence  contained  in  the  “ Sacred  Books  of 
the  East.”  In  its  account  of  the  Eight  Stages 
of  Deliverance  leading  to  Nirvana,  it  explicitly 
describes  what  we  should  be  justified  in  call- 
ing, from  our  Western  point  of  view,  the  pro- 
cess of  absolute  annihilation.  We  are  told 
that  in  the  first  of  these  eight  stages  the  Bud- 


216  NIRVANA 

dhist  seeker  after  truth  still  retains  the  ideas 
of  form  — subjective  and  objective.  In  the 
second  stage  he  loses  the  subjective  idea  of 
form,  and  views  forms  as  external  phenomena 
only.  In  the  third  stage  the  sense  of  the 
approaching  perception  of  larger  truth  comes 
to  him.  In  the  fourth  stage  he  passes  beyond 
all  ideas  of  form,  ideas  of  resistance,  and  ideas 
of  distinction  ; and  there  remains  to  him  only 
the  idea  of  infinite  space.  In  the  fifth  stage 
the  idea  of  infinite  space  vanishes,  and  the 
thought  comes : It  is  all  infinite  reason. 
[Here  is  the  uttermost  limit,  many  might  sup- 
pose, of  pantheistic  idealism ; but  it  is  only 
the  half  way  resting-place  on  the  path  which 
the  Buddhist  thinker  must  pursue.]  In  the 
sixth  stage  the  thought  comes,  “ Nothing  at 
all  exists .”  In  the  seventh  stage  the  idea  of 
nothingness  itself  vanishes.  In  the  eighth 
stage  all  sensations  and  ideas  cease  to  exist. 
And  after  this  comes  Nirvana. 

The  same  suti’a,  in  recounting  the  death  of 
the  Buddha,  represents  him  as  rapidly  passing 
through  the  first,  second,  third,  and  fourth 
stages  of  meditation  to  enter  into  “ that  state 
of  mind  to  which  the  Infinity  of  Space  alone 


NIRVANA 


217 


is  present1”  — and  thence  into  “ that  state  of 
mind  to  which  the  Infinity  of  Thought  alone 
is  present,”  — and  thence  into  “ that  state  of 
mind  to  which  nothing  at  all  is  specially  pres- 
ent,”— and  thence  into  “that  state  of  mind 
between  consciousness  and  unconsciousness,” 
— and  thence  into  “ that  state  of  mind  in 
which  the  consciousness  both  of  sensations  and 
of  ideas  has  wholly  passed  away.” 

For  the  reader  who  has  made  any  serious 
attempt  to  obtain  a general  idea  of  Buddhism, 
such  citations  are  scarcely  necessary ; since 
the  fundamental  doctrine  of  the  concatenation 
of  cause  and  effect  contains  the  same  denial 
of  the  reality  of  Self  and  suggests  the  same 
enigmas.  Illusion  produces  action  or  Karma ; 
Karma,  self-consciousness  ; self-consciousness, 
individuality ; individuality,  the  senses  ; the 
senses,  contact ; contact,  feeling ; feeling,  de- 
sire ; desire,  union ; union,  conception ; con- 
ception, birth ; birth,  sorrow  and  decrepitude 
and  death.  Doubtless  the  reader  knows  the 
doctrine  of  the  destruction  of  the  twelve  Kida- 
nas ; and  it  is  needless  here  to  repeat  it  at 
length.  But  he  may  he  reminded  of  the  teach- 
ing that  by  the  cessation  of  contact  feeling  is 


218 


NIRVANA 


destroyed ; by  that  of  feeling,  individuality  ; 
and  by  that  of  individuality,  self-conscious- 
ness. 

Evidently,  without  a preliminary  solution 
of  the  riddles  offered  by  such  texts,  any  effort 
to  learn  the  meaning  of  Nirvana  is  hopeless. 
Before  being  able  to  comprehend  the  true 
meaning  of  those  sutras  now  made  familiar 
to  English  readers  by  translation,  it  is  neces- 
sary to  understand  that  the  common  Occiden- 
tal ideas  of  God  and  Soul,  of  matter,  of  sph'it, 
have  no  existence  in  Buddhist  philosophy ; 
their  places  being  occupied  by  concepts  hav- 
ing no  real  counterpai'ts  in  Western  religious 
thought.  Above  all,  it  is  necessary  that  the 
reader  should  expel  from  his  mind  the  theolo- 
gical idea  of  Soul.  The  texts  already  quoted 
should  have  made  it  clear  that  in  Buddhist 
philosophy  there  is  no  personal  ti'ansmigra- 
tion,  and  no  individual  permanent  Soul. 


NIRVANA 


219 


II 

“ O Bhagavat,  the  idea  of  a self  is  no  idea  ; and  the  idea 
of  a being,  or  a living  person,  or  a person,  is  no  idea.  And 
why  ? Because  the  blessed  Buddhas  are  freed  from  all 
ideas.” — The  Diamond-Cutter. 

And  now  let  us  try  to  understand  wliat  it 
is  that  dies,  and  wliat  it  is  that  is  reborn,  — 
what  it  is  that  commits  faults  and  what  it 
is  that  suffers  penalties,  — what  passes  from 
states  of  woe  to  states  of  bliss,  — what  enters 
into  Nirvana  after  the  destruction  of  self-con- 
sciousness, — what  survives  “ extinction  ” and 
has  power  to  return  out  of  Nirvana,  — what 
experiences  the  Four  Infinite  Feelings  after 
all  finite  feeling  has  been  annihilated. 

It  is  not  the  sentient  and  conscious  Self 
that  enters  Nirvana.  The  Ego  is  only  a 
temporary  aggregate  of  countless  illusions,  a 
pliautoui-shell,  a bubble  sure  to  break.  It  is 
a creation  of  Karma,  — or  rather,  as  a Bud- 
dhist friend  insists,  it  is  Karma.  To  compre- 
hend the  statement  fully,  the  reader  should 
know  that,  in  this  Oriental  philosophy,  acts 
and  thoughts  are  forces  integrating  them- 
selves into  material  and  mental  phenomena, 


220 


NIRVANA 


— into  what  we  call  objective  and  subjective 
appearances.  The  very  earth  we  tread  upon, 

— the  mountains  and  forests,  the  rivers  and 
seas,  the  world  and  its  moon,  the  visible  uni- 
verse in  short,  — is  the  integration  of  acts 
and  thoughts , is  Karma,  or,  at  least,  Being 
conditioned  by  Karma.1 

1 “ The  aggregate  actions  of  all  sentient  beings  give 
birth  to  the  varieties  of  mountains,  rivers,  countries,  etc. 
. . . Their  eyes,  nostrils,  ears,  tongues,  bodies,  — as  well  as 
their  gardens,  woods,  farms,  residences,  servants,  and  maids, 

— men  imagine  to  he  their  own  possessions  ; but  they  are, 
in  truth,  only  results  produced  by  innumerable  actions.” 

— Kttkoda,  Outlines  of  the  Mahayana. 

“ Grass,  trees,  earth, — all  these  shall  become  Buddha.” 

— Chu-ix-kyo.” 

“ Even  swords  and  things  of  metal  are  manifestations 
of  spirit : within  them  exist  all  virtues  [or  ‘ power  ’]  in  their 
fullest  development  and  perfection.”  — Hizo-ho-yaku. 

“ When  called  sentient  or  non-seutieut,  matter  is  Law- 
Body  [or  ‘ spiritual  body  ’].”  — Chisho-hisho. 

“ The  Apparent  Doctrine  treats  of  the  four  great  ele- 
ments [earth,  fire , water,  air]  as  non-sentient.  But  in  the 
Hidden  Doctrine  these  are  said  to  be  the  Sammy a-Sli in 
[Samya-Kaya],  or  Body-Accordant  of  the  Nyorai  [Tatha- 
gata].”  — Soku-shin-jo-butsu-gi. 

“ When  every  phase  of  our  mind  shall  be  in  accord  with 
the  mind  of  Buddha,  . . . then  there  will  not  be  even  one 
particle  of  dust  that  does  not  enter  into  Buddhahood.”  — 
Engaku-Sho. 


NIRVANA 


221 


The  Karma-Ego  we  call  Self  is  mind  and 
is  body ; — both  perpetually  decay ; both  are 
perpetually  renewed.  From  the  unknown  be- 
ginning, this  double  - phenomenon,  objective 
and  subjective,  has  been  alternately  dissolved 
and  integrated : each  integration  is  a birth  ; 
each  dissolution  a death.  There  is  no  other 
birth  or  death  but  the  birth  and  death  of 
Karma  in  some  form  or  condition.  But  at 
each  rebirth  the  reintegration  is  never  the 
reintegration  of  the  identical  phenomenon, 
but  of  another  to  which  it  gives  rise,  — as 
growth  begets  growth,  as  motion  produces 
motion.  So  that  the  phantom-self  changes 
not  only  as  to  form  and  condition,  but  as  to 
actual  personality  with  every  reembodiment. 
There  is  one  Reality  ; but  there  is  no  per- 
manent individual,  no  constant  personality : 
there  is  only  phantom-self,  and  phantom  suc- 
ceeds to  phantom,  as  undulation  to  undula- 
tion, over  the  ghostly  Sea  of  Birth  and  Death. 
And  even  as  the  storming  of  a sea  is  a 
motion  of  undulation,  not  of  translation,  — 
even  as  it  is  the  form  of  the  wave  only,  not 
the  wave  itself,  that  travels,  — so  in  the  pass- 
ing of  lives  there  is  only  the  rising  and  the 


222 


NIRVANA 


vanishing  of  forms,  — forms  mental,  forms 
material.  The  fathomless  Reality  does  not 
pass.  “ All  forms,”  it  is  written  in  the 
Kongo-hannya-liararnitsw-Kyo } “ are  unreal : 
he  who  rises  above  all  forms  is  the  Buddha.” 
But  what  can  l-emain  to  rise  above  all  forms 
after  the  total  disintegration  of  body  and  the 
final  dissolution  of  mind  ? 

Unconsciously  dwelling  behind  the  false 
consciousness  of  imperfect  man,  — beyond 
sensation,  perception,  thought,  — wrapped  in 
the  envelope  of  what  we  call  soul  (which  in 
truth  is  only  a thickly  woven  veil  of  illusion), 
is  the  eternal  and  divine,  the  Absolute  Real- 
ity : not  a soul,  not  a personality,  but  the 
All-Self  without  selfishness,  — the  Mug  a no 
Taiga,  — the  Buddha  enwombed  in  Karma. 
Within  every  phantom-self  dwells  this  divine : 
yet  the  innumerable  are  but  one.  Within 
every  creature  incarnate  sleeps  the  Infinite 
Intelligence  unevolved,  hidden,  unfelt,  un- 
known, — yet  destined  from  all  the  eternities 
to  waken  at  last,  to  rend  away  the  ghostly 
web  of  sensuous  mind,  to  break  forever  its 
chrysalis  of  flesh,  and  pass  to  the  supreme 

1 Vagra-pragna-paramita-Sutra. 


NIRVANA 


223 


conquest  of  Space  and  Time.  ^Therefore  it 
is  written  in  the  Kccjon-Kyo  (Avatamsaka- 
Sutra)  : “ Child  of  Buddha,  there  is  not  even 
one  living  being  that  has  not  the  wisdom  of 
the  Tathagata.  It  is  only  because  of  their 
vain  thoughts  and  affections  that  all  beings 
are  not  conscious  of  this.  ...  I will  teach 
them  the  holy  B ay  ; — I will  make  them  for- 
sake their  foolish  thoughts,  and  cause  them 
to  see  that  the  vast  and  deep  intelligence 
which  dwells  within  them  is  not  different 
from  the  wisdom  of  the  very  Buddha.” 

Here  we  may  pause  to  consider  the  corre- 
spondence between  these  fundamental  Bud- 
dhist theories  and  the  concepts  of  TVestern 
science.  It  will  be  evident  that  the  Buddhist 
denial  of  the  reality  of  the  apparitional  world 
is  not  a denial  of  the  reality  of  phenomena 
as  phenomena,  nor  a denial  of  the  forces  pro- 
ducing phenomena  objectively  or  subjectively. 
For  the  negation  of  Karma  as  Karma  would 
involve  the  negation  of  the  entire  Buddhist 
system.  The  true  declaration  is,  that  what  we 
perceive  is  never  reality  in  itself,  and  that 
even  the  Ego  that  perceives  is  an  unstable 


224 


NIRVANA 


plexus  of  aggregates  of  feelings  which  are 
themselves  unstable  and  in  the  nature  of  illu- 
sions. This  position  is  scientifically  strong,  — 
perhaps  impregnable.  Of  substance  in  itself 
we  certainly  know  nothing : we  are  conscious 
of  the  universe  as  a vast  play  of  forces  only ; 
and,  even  while  we  discern  the  general  relative 
meaning  of  laws  expressed  in  the  action  of 
those  forces,  all  that  which  is  Non-Ego  is 
revealed  to  us  merely  through  the  vibrations 
of  a nervous  structure  never  exactly  the  same 
in  any  two  human  beings.  Yet  through  such 
varying  and  imperfect  perception  we  are  suf- 
ficiently assured  of  the  impermanency  of  all 
forms,  — of  all  aggregates  objective  or  sub- 
jective. 

The  test  of  reality  is  persistence ; and  the 
Buddhist,  fiuding  in  the  visible  imi verse  only 
a perpetual  flux  of  phenomena,  declares  the 
material  aggregate  unreal  because  non-persist- 
ent, — unreal,  at  least,  as  a bubble,  a cloud, 
or  a mirage.  Again,  relation  is  the  universal 
form  of  thought ; but  since  relation  is  imper- 
manent, how  can  thought  be  persistent  ? . . . 
Judged  from  these  points  of  view,  Buddhist 
doctrine  is  not  Anti-Kealism,  but  a veritable 


NIRVANA 


225 


Transfigured  Realism,  finding  just  expression 
in  tlie  exact  woi’ds  of  Herbert  Spencer  : — 
“ Every  feeling  and  thought  being  but  transi- 
toi’j ; — an  entire  life  made  up  of  such  feel- 
ings and  thoughts  being  also  but  transitory; 
— nay,  the  objects  amid  which  life  is  passed, 
though  less  transitory,  being  severally  in  the 
course  of  losing  their  individualities,  whether 
quickly  or  slowly,  — we  learn  that  the  one 
thing  permanent  is  the  Unknowable  Reality 
hidden  under  all  these  changing  shapes .” 
Likewise,  the  teaching  of  Buddhism,  that 
what  we  call  Self  is  an  impermanent  aggre- 
gate,— a sensuous  illusion,  — will  prove,  if 
patiently  analyzed,  scarcely  possible  for  any 
serious  thinker  to  deny.  Mind,  as  known  to 
the  scientific  psychologist,  is  composed  of  feel- 
ings and  the  relations  between  feelings ; and 
feelings  are  composed  of  units  of  simple  sen- 
sation which  are  physiologically  coincident 
with  minute  nervous  shocks.  All  the  sense- 
organs  are  fundamentally  alike,  being  evolu- 
tional modifications  of  the  same  morphological 
elements ; — and  all  the  senses  are  modifica- 
tions of  touch.  Or,  to  use  the  simplest  pos- 
sible language,  the  organs  of  sense  — sight, 


226 


NIRVANA 


smell,  taste,  even  hearing  — have  been  alike 
developed  from  the  skin ! Even  the  human 
brain  itself,  by  the  modern  testimony  of  his- 
tology and  embryology,  “ is,  at  its  first  be- 
ginning, merely  an  infolding  of  the  epidermic 
layer ; ” and  thought,  physiologically  and  evo- 
lutionally,  is  thus  a modification  of  touch. 
Certain  vibrations,  acting  through  the  visual 
apparatus,  cause  within  the  brain  those  mo- 
tions which  are  followed  by  the  sensations  of 
light  and  color ; — other  vibrations,  acting 
upon  the  auditory  mechanism,  give  rise  to  the 
sensation  of  sound  ; — other  vibrations,  setting 
up  changes  in  specialized  tissue,  produce  sen- 
sations of  taste,  smell,  touch.  All  our  know- 
ledge is  derived  and  developed,  directly  or 
indirectly,  from  physical  sensation,  — from 
touch.  Of  course  this  is  no  ultimate  expla- 
nation, because  nobody  can  tell  us  what  feels 
the  touch.  “ Everything  physical,”  well  said 
Schopenhauer,  “ is  at  the  same  time  meta- 
physical.”  But  science  fully  justifies  the  Bud- 
dhist position  that  what  we  call  Self  is  a 
bundle  of  sensations,  emotions,  sentiments, 
ideas,  memories,  all  relating  to  the  physical 
experiences  of  the  race  and  the  individual, 


NIRVANA 


227 


and  that  our  wish  for  immortality  is  a wish 
for  the  eternity  of  this  merely  sensuous  and 
selfish  consciousness.  And  science  even  sup- 
ports the  Buddhist  denial  of  the  permanence 
of  the  sensuous  Ego.  “Psychology,”  says 
Wundt,  “proves  that  not  only  our  sense-per- 
ceptions, but  the  memorial  images  that  renew 
them,  depend  for  their  origin  upon  the  func- 
tionings of  the  organs  of  sense  and  move- 
ment. ...  A continuance  of  this  sensuous 
consciousness  must  appear  to  her  irreconcil- 
able with  the  facts  of  her  experience.  And 
surely  we  may  well  doubt  whether  such  con- 
tinuance is  an  ethical  requisite : more,  whether 
the  fulfillment  of  the  wish  for  it,  if  possible, 
were  not  an  intolerable  destiny.” 

ill 

“ O Subhuti,  if  I bad  had  an  idea  of  a being,  of  a living 
being,  or  of  a person,  I should  also  have  had  an  idea  of 
malevolence.  ...  A gift  should  not  be  given  by  any  one 
■who  believes  in  form,  sound,  smell,  taste,  or  anything  that 
can  be  touched.” — The  Diamond-Cutter. 

The  doctrine  of  the  impermanency  of  the 
conscious  Ego  is  not  only  the  most  remark- 
able in  Buddhist  philosophy : it  is  also, 


228 


NIRVANA 


morally,  one  of  the  most  important.  Per- 
haps the  ethical  value  of  this  teaching  has 
never  yet  been  fairly  estimated  by  any  West- 
ern thinker.  How  much  of  human  unhappi- 
ness has  been  caused,  directly  and  indirectly, 
by  opposite  beliefs,  — by  the  delusion  of  sta- 
bility, — by  the  delusion  that  distinctions  of 
character,  condition,  class,  creed,  are  settled 
by  immutable  law,  — and  the  delusion  of  a 
changeless,  immortal,  sentient  soul,  destined, 
by  divine  caprice,  to  eternities  of  bliss  or 
eternities  of  fire ! Doubtless  the  ideas  of  a 
deity  moved  by  everlasting  hate,  — of  soul  as 
a permanent,  changeless  entity  destined  to 
changeless  states,  — of  sin  as  unatonable  and 
of  penalty  as  never-ending,  — were  not  with- 
out value  in  former  savage  stages  of  social 
development.  But  in  the  course  of  our  future 
evolution  they  must  be  utterly  got  rid  of ; and 
it  may  be  hoped  that  the  contact  of  Western 
with  Oriental  thought  will  have  for  one  happy 
result  the  acceleration  of  their  decay.  While 
even  the  feelings  which  they  have  developed 
linger  with  us,  there  can  be  no  true  spirit  of 
tolerance,  no  sense  of  human  brotherhood,  no 
wakening  of  universal  love. 


NIR  VAN  A 


229 


Buddhism,  on  the  other  hand,  recognizing 
no  permanency,  no  finite  stabilities,  no  dis- 
tinctions of  character  or  class  or  race,  except 
as  passing  phenomena,  — nay,  no  difference 
even  between  gods  and  men,  — has  been  es- 
sentially the  religion  of  tolerance.  Demon 
and  angel  are  but  varying  manifestations  of 
the  same  Karma ; — hell  and  heaven  mere 
temporary  halting-places  upon  the  journey  to 
eternal  peace.  For  all  beings  there  is  but 
one  law,  — immutable  and  divine  : the  law  by 
which  the  lowest  must  rise  to  the  place  of  the 
highest,  — the  law  by  which  the  worst  must 
become  the  best,  — the  law  by  which  the  vilest 
must  become  a Buddha.  In  such  a system 
there  is  no  room  for  prejudice  and  for  hatred. 
Ignorance  alone  is  the  source  of  wrong  and 
pain  ; and  all  ignorance  must  finally  be  dissi- 
pated in  infinite  light  through  the  decomposi- 
tion of  Self. 

Certainly  while  we  still  try  to  cling  to  the 
old  theories  of  permanent  personality,  and  of 
a single  incarnation  only  for  each  individual, 
we  can  find  no  moral  meaning  in  the  universe 
as  it  exists.  Modern  knowledge  can  discover 


230 


NIRVANA 


no  justice  in  the  cosmic  process;  — the  very 
most  it  can  offer  us  by  way  of  ethical  encour- 
agement is  that  the  unknowable  forces  are 
not  forces  of  pure  malevolence.  “ Neither 
moral  nor  immoral,”  to  quote  Huxley,  “ but 
simply  unmoral.”  Evolutional  science  cannot 
be  made  to  accord  with  the  notion  of  indissolu- 
ble personality ; and  if  we  accept  its  teaching 
of  mental  growth  and  inheritance,  we  must 
also  accept  its  teaching  of  individual  dissolu- 
tion and  of  the  cosmos  as  inexplicable.  It  as- 
sures us,  indeed,  that  the  higher  faculties  of 
man  have  been  developed  through  struggle 
and  pain,  and  will  long  continue  to  be  so  de- 
veloped ; but  it  also  assures  us  that  evolution 
is  inevitably  followed  by  dissolution,  — that 
the  highest  point  of  development  is  the  point 
likewise  from  which  retrogression  begins. 
And  if  we  are  each  and  all  mere  perishable 
forms  of  being,  — doomed  to  pass  away  like 
plants  and  trees,  — what  consolation  can  we 
find  in  the  assurance  that  we  are  suffering  for 
the  benefit  of  the  future  ? How  can  it  con- 
cern us  whether  humanity  become  more  or 
less  happy  in  another  myriad  ages,  if  there 
remains  nothing  for  us  but  to  live  and  die 


NIRVANA 


231 


in  comparative  misery  ? Or,  to  repeat  the 
irony  of  Huxley,  “ what  compensation  does 
the  Eohippus  get  for  his  sorrows  in  the  fact 
that,  some  millions  of  years  afterwards,  one 
of  his  descendants  wins  the  Derby  ? ” 

But  the  cosmic  process  may  assume  quite 
another  aspect  if  we  can  persuade  ourselves, 
like  the  Buddhist,  that  all  being  is  Unity,  — 
that  personality  is  but  a delusion  hiding  real- 
ity, — that  all  distinctions  of  “ I ” and  “ thou  ” 
are  ghostly  films  spun  out  of  perishable  sensa- 
tion, — that  even  Time  and  Place  as  revealed 
to  our  petty  senses  are  phantasms,  — that  the 
past  and  the  present  and  the  future  are  veri- 
tably One.  Suppose  the  winner  of  the  Derby 
quite  well  able  to  remember  having  been  the 
Eohippus  ? Suppose  the  being,  once  man, 
able  to  look  back  through  all  veils  of  death 
and  birth,  through  all  evolutions  of  evolution, 
even  to  the  moment  of  the  first  faint  growth 
of  sentiency  out  of  non-sentiency ; — able  to 
remember,  like  the  Buddha  of  the  Jatakas, 
all  the  experiences  of  his  myriad  incarnations, 
and  to  relate  them  like  fairy-tales  for  the  sake 
of  another  Ananda  ? 


232 


NIRVANA 


We  have  seen  that  it  is  not  the  Self  but 
the  Non-Self  — the  one  reality  underlying  all 
phenomena  — which  passes  from  form  to  form. 
The  striving  for  Nirvana  is  a struggle  perpet- 
ual between  false  and  true,  light  and  darkness, 
the  sensual  and  the  supersensual ; and  the  ul- 
timate victory  can  be  gained  only  by  the  total 
decomposition  of  the  mental  and  the  physical 
individuality.  Not  one  conquest  of  self  can 
suffice  : millions  of  selves  must  be  overcome. 
For  the  false  Ego  is  a compound  of  countless 
ages,  — possesses  a vitality  enduring  beyond 
universes.  At  each  breaking  and  shedding  of 
the  chrysalis  a new  chrysalis  appears,  — more 
tenous,  perhaps,  more  diaphanous,  but  woven 
of  like  sensuous  material,  — a mental  and 
physical  texture  spun  by  Karma  from  the  in- 
herited illusions,  passions,  desires,  pains  and 
pleasures,  of  innumerable  lives.  But  what  is 
it  that  feels  ? — the  phantom  or  the  reality  ? 

All  phenomena  of  /SeZ/’-consciousuess  belong 
to  the  false  self,  — but  only  as  a physiologist 
might  say  that  sensation  is  a product  of  the 
sensiferous  apparatus,  which  would  not  ex- 
plain sensation.  No  more  in  Buddhism  than 
in  physiological  psychology  is  there  any  real 


NIRVANA 


233 


teaching  of  two  feeling  entities.  In  Bud- 
dhism the  only  entity  is  the  Absolute  ; and 
to  that  entity  the  false  self  stands  in  the  rela- 
tion of  a medium  through  which  right  percep- 
tion is  deflected  and  distorted,  — in  which  and 
because  of  which  sentiency  and  impulse  be- 
come possible.  The  unconditioned  Absolute 
is  above  all  relations  : it  has  nothing  of  what 
we  call  pain  or  pleasure  ; it  knows  no  differ- 
ence of  “ I ” and  “ thou,”  — no  distinction  of 
place  or  time.  But  while  conditioned  by  the 
illusion  of  personality,  it  is  aware  of  pain  or 
pleasure,  as  a dreamer  perceives  unrealities 
without  being  conscious  of  their  unreality. 
Pleasures  and  pains  and  all  the  feelings  re- 
lating to  self-consciousness  are  hallucinations. 
The  false  self  exists  only  as  a state  of  sleep 
exists ; and  sentiency  and  desire,  and  all  the 
sorrows  and  passions  of  being,  exist  only  as 
illusions  of  that  sleep. 

But  here  we  reach  a point  at  which  science 
and  Buddhism  diverge.  Modern  psychology 
recognizes  no  feelings  not  evolutionally  devel- 
oped through  the  experiences  of  the  race  and 
the  individual ; but  Buddhism  asserts  the 
existence  of  feelings  which  are  immortal  and 


234 


NIR  VAN  A 


divine.  It  declares  that  in  this  Karma-state 
the  greater  part  of  our  sensations,  perceptions, 
ideas,  thoughts,  are  related  only  to  the  phan- 
tom self ; — that  our  mental  life  is  little  more 
than  a flow  of  feelings  and  desires  belonging 
to  selfishness  ; — that  our  loves  and  hates,  and 
hopes  and  fears,  and  pleasures  and  pains,  are 
illusions  ; 1 — but  it  also  declares  there  are 
higher  feelings,  more  or  less  latent  within  us, 
according  to  our  degree  of  knowledge,  which 
have  nothing  to  do  with  the  false  self,  and 
which  are  eternal. 

Though  science  pronounces  the  ultimate  na- 
ture of  pleasures  and  pains  to  be  inscrutable, 
it  partly  confirms  the  Buddhist  teaching  of 
their  impermanent  character.  Both  appear 
to  belong  rather  to  secondary  than  to  primary 
elements  of  feeling,  and  both  to  be  evolutions, 
— forms  of  sensation  developed,  through  bil- 
lions of  life-experiences,  out  of  primal  con- 
ditions in  which  there  can  have  been  neither 
real  pleasure  nor  real  pain,  but  only  the 
vaguest  dull  sentiency.  The  higher  the  evo- 
lution the  more  pain,  and  the  larger  the  vol- 

1 “ Pleasures  and  pains  have  their  origin  from  touch : 
where  there  is  no  touch,  they  do  not  arise.”  — Atthaka- 
vagga,  11. 


NIRVANA  235 

time  of  all  sensation.  After  the  state  of 
equilibration  has  been  reached,  the  volume 
of  feeling  will  begin  to  diminish.  The  finer 
pleasures  and  the  keener  pains  must  first  be- 
come extinct ; then  by  gradual  stages  the  less 
complex  feelings,  according  to  their  complex- 
ity ; till  at  last,  in  all  the  refrigerating  planet, 
there  will  survive  not  even  the  simplest  sen- 
sation possible  to  the  lowest  form  of  life. 

But,  according  to  the  Buddhist,  the  highest 
moral  feelings  survive  races  and  suns  and 
universes.  The  purely  unselfish  feelings,  im- 
possible to  grosser  natures,  belong  to  the 
Absolute.  In  generous  natures  the  divine  be- 
comes sentient,  — quickens  within  the  shell  of 
illusion,  as  a child  quickens  in  the  womb 
(whence  illusion  itself  is  called  The  Womb  of 
the  Tathagata).  In  yet  higher  natures  the 
feelings  which  are  not  of  self  find  room  for 
powerful  manifestation,  — shine  through  the 
phantom-Ego  as  light  through  a vase.  Such 
are  purely  unselfish  love,  larger  than  individ- 
ual being,  — supreme  compassion,  — perfect 
benevolence : they  are  not  of  man,  but  of 
the  Buddha  within  the  man.  And  as  these 
expand,  all  the  feelings  of  self  begin  to  thin 


236 


NIRVANA 


and  weaken.  The  condition  of  the  phantom- 
Ego  simultaneously  purifies : all  those  opa- 
cities which  darkened  the  reality  of  Mind 
within  the  mirage  of  mind  begin  to  illumine  ; 
and  the  sense  of  the  infinite,  like  a thrilling  of 
light,  passes  through  the  dream  of  personality 
into  the  awakening  divine.1 

But  in  the  case  of  the  average  seeker  after 
truth,  this  refinement  and  ultimate  decomposi- 
tion of  self  can  be  effected  only  with  lentor  inex- 
pressible. The  phantom-individuality,  though 
enduring  only  for  the  space  of  a single  life- 
time, shapes  out  of  the  sum  of  its  innate  qual- 
ities, and  out  of  the  sum  of  its  own  particu- 
lar acts  and  thoughts,  the  new  combination 
which  succeeds  it,  — a fresh  individuality,  — 
another  prison  of  illusion  for  the  Self-without- 
selfishness.2  As  name  and  form,  the  false  self 
dissolves  ; but  its  impulses  live  on  and  recom- 

1 “ To  reach  the  state  of  the  perfect  and  everlasting’  hap- 
piness is  the  highest  Nirvana;  for  then  all  mental  phenom- 
ena — such  as  desires,  etc.  — are  annihilated.  And  as  such 
mental  phenomena  are  annihilated,  there  appears  the  true 
nature  of  true  mind  with  all  its  innumerable  functions  and 
miraculous  actions.”  — Kcroda,  Outlines  of  the  Mahayana. 

2 It  is  on  the  subject  of  this  propagation  and  perpetuation 
of  characters  that  the  doctrine  of  Karma  is  in  partial  agree- 


NIR  VAN  A 


237 


bine ; and  the  final  destruction  of  those  im- 
pulses — the  total  extinction  of  their  ghostly 
vitality,  — may  require  a protraction  of  effort 
through  billions  of  centuries.  Perpetually 
from  the  ashes  of  burnt-out  passions  subtler 
passions  are  born,  — perpetually  from  the 
graves  of  illusions  new  illusions  arise.  The 
most  powerful  of  human  passions  is  the  last 
to  yield  : it  persists  far  into  superhuman  con- 
ditions. Even  when  its  grosser  forms  have 
passed  away,  its  tendencies  still  lurk  in  those 
feelings  originally  derived  from  it  or  inter- 
woven with  it,  — the  sensation  of  beauty,  for 
example,  and  the  delight  of  the  mind  in  grace- 
ful things.  On  earth  these  are  classed  among 
the  higher  feelings.  But  in  a supramundane 
state  their  indulgence  is  fraught  with  peril : a 
touch  or  a look  may  cause  the  broken  fetters 
of  sensual  bondage  to  reform.  Beyond  all 
worlds  of  sex  there  are  strange  zones  in  which 
thoughts  and  memories  become  tangible  and 
visible  objective  facts,  — in  which  emotional 
fancies  are  materialized, — in  which  the  least 
unworthy  wish  may  prove  creative. 

ment  with  the  modern  scientific  teaching  of  the  hereditary 
transmission  of  tendencies. 


238 


NIRVANA 


It  may  be  saicl,  in  W estern  religious  phrase- 
ology, that  throughout  the  greater  part  of  this 
vast  pilgrimage,  and  in  all  the  zones  of  desire, 
the  temptations  increase  according  to  the  spirit- 
ual strength  of  resistance.  With  every  succes- 
sive ascent  there  is  a further  expansion  of  the 
possibilities  of  enjoyment,  an  augmentation  of 
power,  a heightening  of  sensation.  Immense 
the  reward  of  self -conquest ; but  whosoever 
strives  for  that  reward  strives  after  emptiness. 
One  must  not  desire  heaven  as  a state  of  pleas- 
ure ; it  has  been  written,  Erroneous  thoughts 
as  to  the  joys  of  heaven  are  still  entwined  by 
the  fast  cords  of  lust.  One  must  not  wish 
to  become  a god  or  an  angel.  “ Whatsoever 
brother,  O Bliikkus,”  — the  Teacher  said,  — 
“ may  have  adopted  the  religious  life  thinking, 
to  himself,  ‘ By  this  morality  I shall  become  an 
angel]  his  mind  does  not  incline  to  zeal,  per- 
severance, exertion.”  Perhaps  the  most  vivid 
exposition  of  the  duty  of  the  winner  of  hap- 
piness is  that  given  in  the  Sutra  of  the  Great 
King  of  Glory.  This  great  king,  coming  into 
possession  of  all  imaginable  wealth  and  power, 
abstains  from  enjoyments,  despises  splendox-s, 
refuses  the  caresses  of  a Queen  dowered  with 


NIR  VAN  A 


239 


“ the  beauty  of  the  gods,”  and  bids  her  demand 
of  him,  out  of  her  own  lips,  that  he  forsake 
her.  She,  with  dutiful  sweetness,  but  not 
without  natural  tears,  obeys  him ; and  he 
passes  at  once  out  of  existence.  Every  such 
refusal  of  the  prizes  gained  by  virtue  helps  to 
cause  a still  more  fortunate  birth  in  a still 
loftier  state  of  being.  But  no  state  should  be 
desired ; and  it  is  only  after  the  wish  for  Nir- 
vana itself  has  ceased  that  Nirvana  can  be 
attained. 

And  now  we  may  venture  for  a little  while 
into  the  most  fantastic  region  of  Buddhist 
ontology,  — since,  without  some  definite  notion 
of  the  course  of  psychical  evolution  therein 
described,  the  suggestive  worth  of  the  system 
cannot  be  fairly  judged.  Certainly  I am  ask- 
ing the  reader  to  consider  a theory  about  what 
is  beyond  the  uttermost  limit  of  possible  hu- 
man knowledge.  But  as  much  of  the  Bud- 
dhist doctrine  as  can  be  studied  and  tested 
within  the  limit  of  human  knowledge  is  found 
to  accord  with  scientific  opinion  better  than 
does  any  other  religious  hypothesis ; and  some 
of  the  Buddhist  teachings  prove  to  be  incom- 


240 


NIRVANA 


preliensible  anticipations  of  modern  scientific 
discovery,  — can  it,  therefore,  seem  unreason- 
able to  claim  that  even  the  pure  fancies  of  a 
faith  so  much  older  than  our  own,  and  so 
much  more  capable  of  being  reconciled  with 
the  widest  expansions  of  nineteenth-century 
thought,  deserve  at  least  respectful  considera- 
tion ? 


IV 

“ Non-existence  is  only  the  entrance  to  the  Great  Ve- 
hicle.” — Daibon-Eydi. 

“ And  in  which  way  is  it,  Siha,  that  one  speaking  truly 
could  say  of  me  : ‘ The  Samana  Gotama  maintains  annihi- 
lation ; — he  teaches  the  doctrine  of  annihilation  ’ ? I pro- 
claim, Siha,  the  annihilation  of  lust,  of  ill-will,  of  delusion  ; 
I proclaim  the  annihilation  of  the  manifold  conditions  (of 
heart)  which  are  evil  and  not  good.”  — Mahavagga,  vi. 
31.  7. 

“ Nin  mite,  ho  tolce  ” (see  first  the  person, 
then  preach  the  law)  is  a Japanese  proverb 
signifying  that  Buddhism  should  be  taught 
according  to  the  capacity  of  the  pupil.  And 
the  great  systems  of  Buddhist  doctrine  are 
actually  divided  into  progressive  stages  (five 
usually),  to  be  studied  in  succession,  or  other- 
wise, according  to  the  intellectual  ability  of 


NIRVANA 


241 


the  learner.  Also  there  are  many  varieties  of 
special  doctrine  held  by  the  different  sects  and 
sub-sects,  — so  that,  to  make  any  satisfactory 
outline  of  Buddhist  ontology,  it  is  necessary 
to  shape  a synthesis  of  the  more  important  and 
non-conflicting  among  these  many  tenets.  I 
need  scarcely  say  that  popular  Buddhism  does 
not  include  concepts  such  as  we  have  been 
examining.  The  people  hold  to  the  simpler 
creed  of  a vei'itable  transmigration  of  souls. 
The  people  understand  Karma  only  as  the 
law  that  makes  the  punishment  or  reward  of 
faults  committed  in  previous  lives.  The  peo- 
ple do  not  trouble  themselves  about  Nehan  01* 
Nirvana  ; 1 but  they  think  much  about  heaven 
( Gokuraku ),  which  the  members  of  many 
sects  believe  can  be  attained  immediately  af- 
ter this  life  by  the  spirits  of  the  good.  The 

1 Scarcely  a day  passes  that  I do  not  hear  such  words  ut- 
tered as  ingwa,  gokuraku,  gosho,  — or  other  words  referring 
to  Karma,  heaven,  future  life,  past  life,  etc.  But  I have 
never  heard  a man  or  woman  of  the  people  use  the  word 
“ Nehan  ; ” and  whenever  I have  ventured  to  question  such 
about  Nirvana,  I found  that  its  philosophical  meaning  was 
unknown.  On  the  other  hand,  the  Japanese  scholar  speaks 
of  Nehan  as  the  reality,  — of  heaven,  either  as  a temporary 
condition  or  as  a parable. 


242 


NIRVANA 


followers  of  the  greatest  and  richest  of  the 
modern  sects  — the  Shinshu  — hold  that,  by 
the  invocation  of  Amida,  a righteous  person 
can  pass  at  once  after  death  to  the  great  Para- 
dise of  the  West,  — the  Paradise  of  the  Lotos- 
Flower-Birth.  I am  taking  no  account  of 
popular  beliefs  in  this  little  study,  nor  of 
doctrines  peculiar  to  any  one  sect  only. 

But  there  are  many  differences  in  the  higher 
teaching  as  to  the  attainment  of  Nirvana. 
Some  authorities  hold  that  the  supreme  hap- 
piness can  he  won,  or  at  least  seen,  even  on 
this  earth ; while  others  declare  that  the 
present  world  is  too  corrupt  to  allow  of  a per- 
fect life,  and  that  only  by  winning,  through 
good  deeds,  the  privilege  of  rebirth  into  a 
better  world,  can  men  hope  for  opportunity 
to  practice  that  holiness  which  leads  to  the 
highest  bliss.  The  latter  opinion,  which  posits 
the  superior  conditions  of  being  in  other 
worlds,  better  expresses  the  general  thought 
of  contemporary  Buddhism  in  Japan. 

The  conditions  of  human  and  of  animal 
heino-  belono-  to  what  are  termed  the  Worlds 

O O 

of  Desire  (Yoku-JTai),  — which  are  four  in 


NIRVANA 


243 


number.  Below  these  are  the  states  of  tor- 
ment or  hells  ( Jigoku ),  about  which  many- 
curious  things  are  written  ; hut  neither  the 
Yoku-Kai  nor  the  Jigoku  need  he  considered 
in  relation  to  the  purpose  of  this  little  essay. 
We  have  only  to  do  with  the  course  of  spirit- 
ual progress  from  the  world  of  men  up  to 
Nirvana,  — assuming,  with  modern  Buddhism, 
that  the  pilgrimage  through  death  and  birth 
must  continue,  for  the  majority  of  mankind  at 
least,  even  after  the  attainment  of  the  highest 
conditions  possible  upon  this  globe.  The  way 
rises  from  terrestrial  conditions  to  other  and 
superior  worlds,  — passing  first  through  the 
Six  Heavens  of  Desire  ( Yoku-Ten ) ; — thence 
through  the  Seventeen  Heavens  of  Form 
QShiki-Kai)  ; — and  lastly  through  the  Four 
Heavens  of  Formlessness  (Mush  iki-Ka  i), 

beyond  which  lies  Nirvana. 

The  requirements  of  physical  life  — the 
need  of  food,  rest,  and  sexual  relations  — 
continue  to  he  felt  in  the  Heavens  of  Desire, 
— which  would  seem  to  he  higher  physical 
worlds  rather  than  what  we  commonly  under- 
stand by  the  expression  “ heavens.”  Indeed, 
the  conditions  in  some  of  them  are  such  as 


244 


NIRVANA 


might  be  supposed  to  exist  in  planets  more 
favored  than  our  own,  — in  larger  spheres 
warmed  by  a more  genial  sun.  And  some 
Buddhist  texts  actually  place  them  in  remote 
constellations,  — declaring  that  the  Path  leads 
from  star  to  star,  from  galaxy  to  galaxy,  from 
universe  to  universe,  up  to  the  Limit  of  Exist- 
ence.1 

In  the  first  of  the  heavens  of  this  zone, 
called  the  Heaven  of  the  Four  Kings  (>S/«- 
Tenno-Ten'),  life  lasts  five  times  longer  than 
life  on  this  earth  according  to  number  of  years, 
and  each  year  there  is  equal  to  fifty  terrestrial 
years.  But  its  inhabitants  eat  and  drink,  and 
marry  and  give  in  marriage,  much  after  the 
fashion  of  mankind.  In  the  succeeding  heaven 
(Sanjiu-san-Ten),  the  duration  of  life  is 
doubled,  while  all  other  conditions  are  corre- 
spondingly improved ; and  the  grosser  forms 


1 This  astronomical  localization  of  higher  conditions  of 
being,  or  of  other  “ Buddha-fields,”  may  provoke  a smile ; 
but  it  suggests  undeniable  possibilities.  There  is  no  absurd- 
ity in  supposing  that  potentialities  of  life  and  growth  and 
development  really  pass,  with  nebular  diffusion  and  concen- 
tration, from  expired  systems  to  new  systems.  Indeed,  not 
to  suppose  this,  in  our  present  state  of  knowledge,  is  scarcely 
possible  for  the  rational  mind. 


NIRVANA 


245 


of  passion  disappear.  The  union  of  tlie  sexes 
persists,  but  in  a manner  curiously  similar  to 
that  wliicli  a certain  Father  of  the  Christian 
Church  wished  might  become  possible,  — a 
simple  embrace  producing  a new  being.  In 
the  third  heaven  (called  Emma-Ten ),  where 
longevity  is  again  doubled,  the  slightest  touch 
may  create  life.  In  the  fourth,  or  Heaven 
of  Contentment  ( Toehita-Ten ),  longevity  is 
further  increased.  In  the  fifth,  or  Heaven 
of  the  Transmutation  of  Pleasure  ( KeraJcu - 
Ten),  strange  new  powers  are  gained.  Sub- 
jective pleasures  become  changed  at  will  into 
objective  pleasures ; — thoughts  as  well  as 
wishes  become  creative  forces  ; — and  even  the 
act  of  seeing  may  cause  conception  and  birth. 
In  the  sixth  heaven  ( Take-jizai-Ten ),  the 
powers  obtained  in  the  fifth  heaven  are  further 
developed  ; and  the  subjective  pleasures  trans- 
muted into  objective  can  be  presented  to  others, 
or  shared  with  others,  — like  material  gifts. 
But  the  look  of  an  instant,  — one  glance  of 
the  eye,  — may  generate  a new  Karma. 

The  Yoku-Kai  are  all  heavens  of  sensuous 
life,  — heavens  such  as  might  answer  to  the 
dreams  of  artists  and  lovers  and  poets.  But 


246 


NIRVANA 


those  who  are  able  to  traverse  them  without 
falling  — (and  a fall,  he  it  observed,  is  not 
difficult)  — pass  into  the  Supersensual  Zone, 
first  entering  the  Heavens  of  Luminous  Ob- 
servation of  Existence  and  of  Calm  Medita- 
tion upon  Existence  ( Ujin-ushi-shoryo,  or  Kak- 
hwaii).  These  are  in  number  three,  — each 
higher  than  the  preceding,  — and  are  named 
The  Heaven  of  Sanctity,  The  Heaven  of 
Higher  Sanctity,  and  The  Heaven  of  Great 
Sanctity.  After  these  come  the  heavens  called 
the  Heavens  of  Luminous  Observation  of  Non- 
Existence  and  of  Calm  Meditation  upon  Non- 
Existence  (. Mujinsmushi-shdryo ).  These  also 
are  three ; and  the  names  of  them  in  their 
order  signify,  Lesser  Light,  Light  Unfathom- 
able, and  Light  Making  Sound,  or,  Light-So- 
norous. Here  there  is  attained  the  highest 
degree  of  supersensuous  joy  possible  to  tem- 
porary conditions.  Above  are  the  states  named 
Rihi-shoryo , or  the  Heavens  of  the  Medita- 
tion of  the  Abandonment  of  Joy.  The  names 
of  these  states  in  their  ascending  order  are, 
Lesser  Purity,  Purity  Unfathomable,  and  Pu- 
rity Supreme.  In  them  neither  joy  nor  pain, 
nor  forceful  feeling  of  any  sort  exist : there  is 


NIRVANA 


247 


a milcl  negative  pleasure  only.  — tlie  pleasure 
of  heavenly  Equanimity.1  Higher  than  these 
heavens  are  the  eight  spheres  of  Calm  Medi- 
tation upon  the  Abandonment  of  all  Joy  and 
Pleasure  (. TZiM-raku-shoryo ).  They  are  called 
The  Cloudless,  Holiness-Manifest,  Vast  Re- 
sults, Empty  of  Name,  Void  of  Heat,  Fair- 
Appearing,  Vision-Perfecting,  and  The  Limit 
of  Form.  Herein  pleasure  and  pain,  and  name 
and  form,  pass  utterly  away.  But  there  re- 
main ideas  and  thoughts. 

He  who  can  pass  through  these  supersen- 
sual  realms  enters  at  once  into  the  Mushiki- 
Kai , — the  spheres  of  Formlessness.  These 
are  four.  In  the  first  state  of  the  Mushiki- 
Kai,  all  sense  of  individuality  is  lost:  even 
the  thought  of  name  and  form  becomes  ex- 
tinct, and  there  survives  only  the  idea  of 
Infinite  Space,  or  Emptiness.  In  the  second 

1 One  is  reminded  by  this  conception  of  Mr.  Spencer’s 
beautiful  definition  of  Equanimity  : — “ Equanimity  may  be 
compared  to  ■white  light,  ■which,  though  composed  of  numer- 
ous colors,  is  colorless  ; while  pleasurable  and  painful  moods 
of  mind  may  be  compared  to  the  modifications  of  light  that 
result  from  increasing  the  proportions  of  some  rays,  and 
decreasing  the  proportions  of  others.”  — Principles  of  Psy- 
chology. 


248 


NIRVANA 


state  of  the  Musliiki-Kai,  this  idea  of  space 
vanishes ; and  its  place  is  filled  by  the  Idea  of 
Infinite  Reason.  But  this  idea  of  reason  is 
anthropomorphic : it  is  an  illusion ; and  it 
fades  out  in  the  third  state  of  the  Mushiki- 
Kai,  which  is  called  the  “ State-of-Nothing-to- 
take-hold-of,”  or  Mu-sho-u-sho-jd.  Here  is 
only  the  Idea  of  Infinite  Nothingness.  But 
even  this  condition  has  been  reached  by  the 
aid  of  the  action  of  the  personal  mind.  This 
action  ceases : then  the  fourth  state  of  the 
Mushiki-Kai  is  reached,  — the  Iliso-hihiso- 
sho,  or  the  state  of  “ neither-namelessness- 
nor-not-namelessness.”  Something  of  personal 
mentality  continues  to  float  vaguely  here,  — 
the  very  uttermost  expiring  vibration  of 
Ivarma,  — the  last  vanishing  haze  of  being. 
It  melts  ; — and  the  immeasurable  revelation 
comes.  The  dreaming  Buddha,  freed  from  the 
last  ghostly  bond  of  Self,  rises  at  once  into 
the  “ infinite  bliss  ” of  Nirvana.1 

But  every  being  does  not  pass  through  all 
the  states  above  enumerated : the  power  to 

1 The  expression  “ infinite  bliss  ” as  synonymous  with  Nir- 
vana is  taken  from  the  Questions  of  King  Milinda. 


NIRVANA 


249 


rise  swiftly  or  slowly  depends  upon  the  acqui- 
sition of  merit  as  well  as  upon  the  character 
of  the  Kai’ma  to  be  overcome.  Some  beings 
pass  to  Nirvana  immediately  after  the  pres- 
ent life  ; some  after  a single  new  birth  ; some 
after  two  or  three  births ; while  many  rise 
directly  from  this  world  into  one  of  the  Su- 
persensuous  Heavens.  All  such  are  called 
Cho,  — the  Leapers,  — of  whom  the  highest 
class  reach  Nirvana  at  once  after  their  death 
as  men  or  women.  There  are  two  great  divi- 
sions of  Cho,  — the  Fu-Fwan , or  Never- 
Returning-Ones,1  and  the  Fioan,  Returning 
Ones,  or  revenants.  Sometimes  the  return 
may  be  in  the  nature  of  a prolonged  retro- 
gression ; and,  according  to  a Buddhist  legend 
of  the  origin  of  the  world,  the  first  men  were 
beings  who  had  fallen  from  the  Fwo-on-Ten , 
or  Heaven  of  Sonorous  Light.  A remarkable 
fact  about  the  whole  theory  of  progression 
is  that  the  progression  is  not  conceived  of 

1 In  the  Sutra  of  the  Great  Decease  we  find  the  instance 
of  a woman  reaching  this  condition : — “ The  Sister  Nanda, 
O Ananda,  hy  the  destruction  of  the  five  bonds  that  hind 
people  to  this  world,  has  become  an  inhabitant  of  the  high- 
est heaven,  — there  to  pass  entirely  away,  — thence  never 
to  return.” 


250 


NIR  VAN  A 


(except  in  very  rare  cases)  as  au  advance  in 
straight  lines,  but  as  an  advance  by  undula- 
tions, — a psychical  rhythm  of  motion.  This 
is  exemplified  by  the  curious  Buddhist  classi- 
fication of  the  different  short  courses  by  which 
the  Kwan  or  revenants  may  hope  to  reach 
Nirvana.  These  short  courses  are  divided 
into  Even  and  Uneven;  — the  former  includes 
an  equal  number  of  heavenly  and  of  earthly 
rebirths  ; while  in  the  latter  class  the  heavenly 
and  the  earthly  intermediate  rebirths  are  not 
equal  in  number.  There  are  four  kinds  of 
these  intermediate  stages.  A Japanese  friend 
has  drawn  for  me  the  accompanying  diagrams, 
which  explain  the  subject  clearly. 

Fantastic  this  may  be  called;  but  it  har- 
monizes with  the  truth  that  all  progress  is 
necessarily  rhythmical. 

Though  all  beings  do  not  pass  through 
every  stage  of  the  great  journey,  all  beings 
who  attain  to  the  highest  enlightenment,  by 
any  course  whatever,  acquire  certain  faculties 
not  belonging  to  particular  conditions  of  birth, 
but  only  to  particular  conditions  of  psychical 
development.  These  are,  the  Uoku-Jindzu 


NIRVANA  REACHED  from  the  -THROUGH  3 UNEVEN  BIRTKS:- 

HEAVENS  THROUGH  3 EVEN 

births 


-/ 


OTHER. 

TH/-.NJ 

MAN 


* ' ^ 

HEAVENS 

— I 


i a 


— I — 
man; 


NIRVANA  REACHED  FROM  THE 
STATE  OF  MAN  THROUGH  3 
EVEN  BIRTHS:- 


/ 


A/U 

/ i \i 

if 


— THROUGH  3 UNEVEN  BIRTHS*.-1 


JOAM 


T“ 


nirvana  reached  from  THE  -THROUGH  2 UNEVEN  BIRTnS:- 

HEAVENS  THROUGH  2 EVEN 

BIRTHS.—  tiiimtOb 


NIRVANA  REACHED  FROM  THE 
STATE  OF  MAN  THROUGH  1 
EVEN  BIRTHS  :- 


-THROUGH  2 UNEVEN  QIRTHS:- 


/ ! 


f<\M* 


NIRVANA 


253 


(Abhidjna),  or  Six  Supernatural  Powers  : 1 — 
(1)  Shin-Eyo-Tsu , the  power  of  passing  any- 
whither  through  any  obstacles,  — through 
solid  walls,  for  example;  — (2)  Tengen-Tsu , 
the  power  of  infinite  vision  ; — (3)  Tenni- 
Tsu , the  power  of  infinite  hearing  ; — (4) 
Taskin  - Tsu,  the  power  of  knowing  the 
thoughts  of  all  other  beings  ; — (5)  Shuhu- 
ju-Tsu,  the  power  of  remembering  former 
births  ; — (6)  liojin  - Tsu , infinite  wisdom 
with  the  power  of  entering  at  will  into  Nir- 
vana. The  Roku-jindzu  first  begin  to  develop 
in  the  state  of  Shomon  (Sravaka),  and  ex- 
pand in  the  higher  conditions  of  Engaku 
(Pratyeka-Buddha)  and  of  Bosatsu  (Bodhi- 
sattva  or  Mahasattva).  The  powers  of  the 
Shomon  may  be  exerted  over  two  thousand 
worlds ; those  of  the  Engaku  or  Bosatsu,  over 
three  thousand ; — but  the  powers  of  Buddha- 
hood  extend  over  the  total  cosmos.  In  the 

1 Different  Buddhist  systems  give  different  enumerations 
of  these  mysterious  powers  whereof  the  Chinese  names  liter- 
ally signify : — (1)  Calm  - Meditation-outward-pouring-no- 
obstacle-wisdom ; — (2)  Heaven-Eye-uo-ohstacle- wisdom  ; 
— (3)  Heaven-Ear-no-obstacle-wisdom  ; — (4)  Other-minds- 
no-obstacle-wisdom ; — (5)  Former-States-no-obstacle-wis- 
dom ; — (0)  Leak-Extinction-no-obstacle-wisdom. 


254 


NIRVANA 


first  state  of  holiness,  for  example,  comes  the 
memory  of  a certain  number  of  former  births, 
together  with  the  capacity  to  foresee  a corre- 
sponding number  of  future  births  ; — in  the 
next  higher  state  the  number  of  births  remem- 
bered increases ; — and  in  the  state  of  Bosatsu 
all  former  births  are  visible  to  memory.  But 
the  Buddha  sees  not  only  all  of  his  own  for- 
mer births,  but  likewise  all  births  that  ever 
have  been  or  can  be,  — and  all  the  thoughts 
and  acts,  past,  present,  or  future,  of  all  past, 
present,  or  future  beings.  ...  Now  these 
dreams  of  supernatural  power  merit  attention 
because  of  the  ethical  teaching  in  regard  to 
them,  — the  same  which  is  woven  through 
every  Buddhist  hypothesis,  rational  or  un- 
thinkable, — the  teaching  of  self-abnegation. 
The  Supernatural  Powers  must  never  be  used 
for  personal  pleasure,  but  only  for  the  highest 
beneficence, — the  propagation  of  doctrine,  the 
saving  of  men.  Any  exercise  of  them  for 
lesser  ends  might  result  in  their  loss,  — would 
certainly  signify  retrogression  in  the  path.1 

1 Beings  who  have  reached  the  state  of  Engaku  or  of 
Bosatsu  are  not  supposed  capable  of  retrogression,  or  of  any 
serious  error ; hut  it  is  otherwise  in  lower  spiritual  states. 


NIRVANA 


255 


To  show  them  for  the  purpose  of  exciting 
admiration  or  wonder  were  to  juggle  wick- 
edly with  what  is  divine ; and  the  Teacher 
himself  is  recorded  to  have  once  severely 
rebuked  a needless  display  of  them  by  a dis- 
ciple.1 

This  giving  up  not  only  of  one  life,  but 
of  countless  lives,  — not  only  of  one  world, 
but  of  innumerable  worlds,  — not  only  of 
natural  but  also  of  supernatural  pleasures,  — 
not  only  of  selfhood  but  of  godhood,  — is  cer- 
tainly not  for  the  miserable  privilege  of 
ceasing  to  be,  but  for  a privilege  infinitely 
outweighing  all  that  even  paradise  can  give. 
Nirvana  is  no  cessation,  but  an  emancipation. 
It  means  only  the  passing  of  conditioned 
being  into  unconditioned  being,  — the  fading 
of  all  mental  and  physical  phantoms  into  the 
light  of  Formless  Omnipotence  and  Omni- 
science. But  the  Buddhist  hypothesis  holds 
some  suggestion  of  the  persistence  of  that 
which  has  once  been  able  to  remember  all 
births  and  states  of  limited  being,  — the  per- 
sistence of  the  identity  of  the  Buddhas  even 

1 See  a curious  legend  in  the  Yinaya  texts,  — Kullavagga, 

v.  8,  2. 


256 


NIR  VAN  A 


in  Nirvana,  notwithstanding  the  teaching  that 
all  Buddhas  are  one.  How  reconcile  this 
doctrine  of  monism  with  the  assurance  of  va- 
rious texts  that  the  being  who  enters  Nirvana 
can,  when  so  desirous,  reassume  an  earthly 
personality?  There  are  some  very  remark- 
able texts  on  this  subject  in  the  Sutra  of  the 
Lotos  of  the  Good  Law : those  for  instance 
in  which  the  Tathagata  Prabhutaratna  is  pic- 
tured as  sitting  '■'•perfectly  extinct  upon  his 
throne ,”  and  speaking  before  a vast  assembly 
to  which  he  has  been  introduced  as  “ the 
great  Seer  who,  although  perfectly  extinct  for 
many  hbtis  of  ceons,  now  comes  to  hear  the 
Law.”  These  texts  themselves  offer  us  the 
riddle  of  multiplicity  in  imity ; for  the  Tatha- 
gata Prabhutaratna  and  the  myriads  of  other 
extinct  Buddhas  who  appear  simultaneously, 
are  said  to  have  been  all  incarnations  of  but 
a single  Buddha. 

A reconciliation  is  offered  by  the  hypothesis 
of  what  might  be  called  a pluristic  monism,  — • 
a sole  reality  composed  of  groups  of  conscious- 
ness, at  once  independent  and  yet  interde- 
pendent, — or,  to  speak  of  pure  mind  in  terms 
of  matter,  an  atomic  spiritual  ultimate.  This 


NIRVANA 


257 


hypothesis,  though  not  doctrinably  enunciated 
in  Buddhist  texts,  is  distinctly  implied  both 
by  text  and  commentary.  The  Absolute  of 
Buddhism  is  one  as  ether  is  one.  Ether  is 
conceivable  only  as  a composition  of  units.1 

1 This  position,  it  ■will  be  observed,  is  very  dissimilar 
from  that  of  Hartmann,  who  bolds  that  ‘ ‘ all  plurality  of 
individuation  belongs  to  the  sphere  of  phenomenality.” 
(vol.  ii.  page  233  of  English  translation.)  One  is  rather 
reminded  of  the  thought  of  Galton  that  human  beings  “ may 
contribute  more  or  less  unconsciously  to  the  manifestation 
of  a far  higher  life  than  our  own,  — somewhat  as  the  indi- 
vidual cells  of  one  of  the  more  complex  animals  contribute 
to  the  manifestation  of  its  higher  order  of  personality.” 
(Hereditary  Genius,  p.  361.)  Another  thought  of  Gal- 
ton’s,  expressed  on  the  same  page  of  the  work  just  quoted 
from,  is  still  more  strongly  suggestive  of  the  Buddhist 
concept:  — “We  must  not  permit  ourselves  to  consider 
each  human  or  other  personality  as  something  supernatu- 
rally  added  to  the  stock  of  nature,  but  rather  as  a segrega- 
tion of  what  already  existed,  under  a new  shape,  and  as  a 
regular  consequence  of  previous  conditions.  . . . Neither 
must  we  be  misled  by  the  word  ‘individuality.’  . . . We 
may  look  upon  each  individual  as  something  not  wholly 
detached  from  its  parent-source, — as  a wave  that  has  been 
lifted  and  shaped  by  normal  conditions  in  an  unknown  and 
illimitable  ocean.” 

The  reader  should  remember  that  the  Buddhist  hypothesis 
does  not  imply  either  individuality  or  personality  in  Nirvana, 
but  simple  entity,  — not  a spiritual  body,  in  our  meaning  of 
the  term,  but  only  a divine  consciousness.  “ Heart,”  in  the 


258 


NIRVANA 


The  Absolute  is  conceivable  only  (according 
to  any  attempt  at  a synthesis  of  the  Japanese 
doctrines)  as  composed  of  Buddhas.  But 
here  the  student  finds  himself  voyaging  far- 
ther, perhaps,  beyond  the  bar  of  the  thinkable 
than  W estern  philosophers  have  ever  ventured. 
All  are  One  ; — each  by  union  becomes  equal 
with  All ! We  are  not  only  bidden  to  imagine 
the  ultimate  reality  as  composed  of  units  of 
conscious  being,  — but  to  believe  each  unit 

sense  of  divine  mind,  is  a term  used  in  some  Japanese  texts 
to  describe  such  entity.  In  the  Dai-Nichi  Kyd  So  (Com- 
mentary on  the  Dai-Nichi  Sutra),  for  example,  is  the  state- 
ment : — “ When  all  seeds  of  Karma-life  are  entirely  burnt 
out  and  annihilated,  then  the  vacuum-pure  Bodhi-heart  is 
reached.”  (I  may  observe  that  Buddhist  metaphysicians 
use  the  term  “ vacuum-bodies  ” to  describe  one  of  the  high 
conditions  of  entity.)  The  following,  from  the  fifty-first  vol- 
ume of  the  work  called  Daizd-ho-su  will  also  be  found  inter- 
esting : — “ By  experience  the  Tathagata  possesses  all  forms, 
— forms  for  multitude  numberless  as  the  dust-grains  of  the 
universe.  . . . The  Tathagata  gets  himself  bom  in  such 
places  as  he  desires,  or  in  accord  with  the  desire  of  others, 
and  there  saves  [lit.,  ‘ carries  over  ’ — that  is,  over  the  Sea 
of  Birth  and  Death]  all  sentient  beings.  Wheresoever  his 
■will  finds  an  abiding-point,  there  is  he  embodied : this  is 
called  Will-Birth  Body.  . . . The  Buddha  makes  Law  his 
body,  and  remains  pure  as  empty  space  : this  is  called  Law- 
Body.” 


NIRVANA 


259 


permanently  equal  to  every  other  and  infinite 
in  potentialitij}  The  central  reality  of  every 
living  creature  is  a pure  Buddha : the  visible 
form  and  thinking  self,  which  encell  it,  being 
but  Karma.  With  some  degree  of  truth  it 
might  be  said  that  Buddhism  substitutes  for 
our  theory  of  a universe  of  physical  atoms  the 
hypothesis  of  a universe  of  psychical  units. 
Not  that  it  necessarily  denies  our  theory  of 
physical  atoms,  but  that  it  assumes  a position 
which  might  be  thus  expressed  in  words : 
“ What  you  call  atoms  are  really  combina- 
tions, unstable  aggregates,  essentially  imper- 
manent, and  therefore  essentially  unreal. 
Atoms  are  but  Karma.”  And  this  position 
is  suggestive.  We  know  nothing  whatever  of 
the  ultimate  nature  of  substance  and  motion  : 
but  we  have  scientific  evidence  that  the  known 
has  been  evolved  from  the  unknown  ; that  the 
atoms  of  our  elements  are  combinations ; and 
that  what  we  call  matter  and  force  are  but  dif- 
ferent manifestations  of  a single  and  infinite 
Unknown  Reality. 

1 Half  of  this  Buddhist  thought  is  really  embodied  in 
Tennyson’s  line,  — 

“Boundless  inward,  in  the  atom ; boundless  outward,  in  the  Whole.” 


2G0 


NIRVANA 


There  are  wonderful  Buddhist  pictures  which 
at  first  sight  appear  to  have  been  made,  like 
other  Japanese  pictures,  with  bold  free  sweeps 
of  a skilled  brush,  but  which,  when  closely  ex- 
amined, prove  to  have  been  executed  in  a much 
more  marvelous  manner.  The  figures,  the  fea- 
tures, the  robes,  the  aureoles,  — also  the  scen- 
ery, the  colors,  the  effects  of  mist  or  cloud,  — all, 
even  to  the  tiniest  detail  of  tone  or  line,  have 
been  produced  by  groupings  of  microscopic 
Chinese  characters,  — tinted  according  to  posi- 
tion, and  more  or  less  thickly  massed  accord- 
ing to  need  of  light  or  shade.  In  brief,  these 
pictures  are  composed  entirely  out  of  texts  of 
Suti’as : they  are  mosaics  of  minute  ideographs, 
■ — each  ideograph  a combination  of  strokes, 
and  the  symbol  at  once  of  a sound  and  of  an 
idea. 

Is  our  universe  so  composed  ? — an  endless 
pliantasmagory  made  only  by  combinations 
of  combinations  of  combinations  of  combina- 
tions of  units  finding  quality  and  form  through 
unimaginable  affinities  ; — now  thickly  massed 
in  solid  glooms  ; now  palpitating  in  tremulosi- 
ties  of  light  and  color ; always  and  everywhere 
grouped  by  some  stupendous  art  into  one  vast 


NIRVANA 


261 


mosaic  of  polarities ; — yet  each  unit  in  itself 
a complexity  inconceivable,  and  each  in  itself 
also  a symbol  only,  a character,  a single  ideo- 
graph of  the  undecipherable  text  of  the  Infi- 
nite Riddle?  . . . Ask  the  chemists  and  the 
mathematicians. 


v 

. . . “ All  beings  that  have  life  shall  lay 
Aside  their  complex  form,  — that  aggregation 
Of  mental  and  material  qualities 
That  gives  them,  or  in  heaven  or  on  earth, 

Their  fleeting  individuality.” 

The  Book  of  the  Great  Decease. 

In  every  teleological  system  there  are  con- 
ceptions which  cannot  bear  the  test  of  modern 
psychological  analysis,  and  in  the  foregoing 
unfilled  outline  of  a great  religious  hypo- 
thesis there  will  doubtless  be  recognized  some 
“ghosts  of  beliefs  haunting  those  mazes  of 
verbal  propositions  in  which  metaphysicians 
habitually  lose  themselves.”  But  truths  will 
be  perceived  also,  — grand  recognitions  of  the 
law  of  ethical  evolution,  of  the  price  of  pro- 
gress, and  of  our  relation  to  the  changeless 
Reality  abiding  beyond  all  change. 


262 


NIRVANA 


The  Buddhist  estimate  of  the  enormity  of 
that  opposition  to  moral  progress  which  hu- 
manity must  overcome  is  fully  sustained  by 
our  scientific  knowledge  of  the  past  and  per- 
ception of  the  future.  Mental  and  moral 
advance  has  thus  far  been  effected  only 
through  constant  struggle  against  inheritances 
older  than  reason  or  moral  feeling,  — against 
the  instincts  and  the  appetites  of  primitive 
brute  life.  And  the  Buddhist  teaching,  that 
the  average  man  can  hope  to  leave  his  worse 
nature  behind  him  only  after  the  lapse  of  mil- 
lions of  future  lives,  is  much  more  of  a truth 
than  of  a theory.  Only  through  millions  of 
births  have  we  been  able  to  reach  even  this 
our  present  imperfect  state ; and  the  dark 
bequests  of  our  darkest  past  are  still  strong 
enough  betimes  to  prevail  over  reason  and 
ethical  feeling.  Every  future  forward  pace 
upon  the  moral  path  will  have  to  be  taken 
against  the  massed  effort  of  millions  of  ghostly 
wills.  For  those  past  selves  which  priest  and 
poet  have  told  us  to  use  as  steps  to  higher 
things  are  not  dead,  nor  even  likely  to  die 
for  a thousand  generations  to  come : they  are 
too  much  alive ; — they  have  still  power  to 


NIRVANA 


263 


clutch  the  climbing  feet,  — sometimes  even 
to  fling  back  the  climber  into  the  primeval 
slime. 

Again,  in  its  legend  of  the  Heavens  of  De- 
sire, — progress  through  which  depends  upon 
the  ability  of  triumphant  virtue  to  refuse 
what  it  has  won,  — Buddhism  gives  us  a won- 
der-story full  of  evolutional  truth..  The  diffi- 
culties of  moral  self-elevation  do  not  disappear 
with  the  amelioration  of  material  social  con- 
ditions ; — in  our  own  day  they  rather  in- 
crease. As  life  becomes  more  complex,  more 
multiform,  so  likewise  do  the  obstacles  to  ethi- 
cal advance,  — so  likewise  do  the  results  of 
thoughts  and  acts.  The  expansion  of  intel- 
lectual power,  the  refinement  of  sensibility, 
the  enlargement  of  the  sympathies,  the  in- 
tensive quickening  of  the  sense  of  beauty,  — 
all  multiply  ethical  dangers  just  as  certainly 
as  they  multiply  ethical  opportunities.  The 
highest  material  results  of  civilization,  and  the 
increase  of  possibilities  of  pleasure,  exact  an 
exercise  of  self-mastery  and  a power  of  ethical 
balance,  needless  and  impossible  in  older  and 
lower  states  of  existence. 

The  Buddhist  doctrine  of  impermanency  is 


264 


NIRVANA 


the  doctrine  also  of  modern  science : either 
might  be  uttered  in  the  words  of  the  other. 
“ Natural  knowledge,”  wrote  Huxley  in  one 
of  his  latest  and  finest  essays,  “ tends  more 
and  more  to  the  conclusion  that  ‘ all  the  choir 
of  heaven  and  furniture  of  the  earth’  are 
the  transitory  forms  of  parcels  of  cosmic  sub- 
tance  wending  along  the  road  of  evolution 
from  nebulous  potentiality,  — through  endless 
growths  of  sun  and  planet  and  satellite,  — 
through  all  varieties  of  matter,  — through  in- 
finite diversities  of  life  and  thought,  — pos- 
sibly through  modes  of  being  of  which  we 
neither  have  a conception  nor  are  competent 
to  form  any,  — back  to  the  indefinable  latency 
from  which  they  arose.  Thus  the  most  obvi- 
ous attribute  of  the  Cosmos  is  its  imper- 
manency.”  1 

And,  finally,  it  may  be  said  that  Buddhism 
not  only  presents  remarkable  accordance  with 
nineteenth  century  thought  in  regard  to  the 
instability  of  all  integrations,  the  ethical  sig- 
nification of  heredity,  the  lesson  of  mental 
evolution,  the  duty  of  moral  progress,  but  it 
also  agrees  with  science  in  repudiating  equally 

1 Evolution  and  Ethics. 


NIRVANA 


265 


our  doctrines  of  materialism  and  of  spiritual- 
ism, our  theory  of  a Creator  and  of  special 
creation,  and  our  belief  in  the  immortality  of 
the  soul.  Yet,  in  spite  of  this  repudiation 
of  the  very  foundations  of  Occidental  religion, 
it  has  been  able  to  give  us  the  revelation  of 
larger  religious  possibilities,  — the  suggestions 
of  a universal  scientific  creed  nobler  than  any 
which  has  ever  existed.  Precisely  in  that 
period  of  our  own  intellectual  evolution  when 
faith  in  a personal  God  is  passing  away,  — 
when  the  belief  in  an  individual  soul  is  be- 
coming impossible,  — when  the  most  religious 
minds  shrink  from  everything  that  we  have 
been  calling  religion,  — when  the  universal 
doubt  is  an  ever-growing  weight  upon  ethical 
aspiration,  — light  is  offered  from  the  East. 
There  we  find  ourselves  in  presence  of  an 
older  and  a vaster  faith,  — holding  no  gross 
anthropomorphic  conceptions  of  the  immeas- 
urable Reality,  and  denying  the  existence  of 
soul,  but  nevertheless  inculcating  a system  of 
morals  superior  to  any  other,  and  maintaining 
a hope  which  no  possible  future  form  of  posi- 
tive knowledge  can  destroy.  Reinforced  by 
the  teaching  of  science,  the  teaching  of  this 


266  NIRVANA 

more  ancient  faith  is  that  for  thousands  of 
years  we  have  been  thinking  inside-out  and 
upside-down.  The  only  reality  is  One  ; — all 
that  we  have  taken  for  Substance  is  only 
Shadow  ; — the  physical  is  the  unreal ; — and 
the  outer-man  is  the  ghost. 


X 


TIIE  REBIRTH  OF  KATSUGORO 
I 

The  following  is  not  a story,  — at  least  it  is 
not  one  of  my  stories.  It  is  only  tlie  transla- 
tion of  an  old  Japanese  document  — or  rather 
series  of  documents  — very  much  signed  and 
sealed,  and  dating  hack  to  the  early  part  of 
the  present  century.  My  friend  Amenomori, 
who  is  always  seeking  rare  Japanese  and  Chi- 
nese MSS.,  and  seems  to  have  some  preter- 
natural power  for  discovering  them,  found 
this  one  in  the  library  of  Count  Sasaki  in 
Tokyo.  Thinking  it  to  be  a curious  thing, 
he  obtained  kindly  permission  to  have  a copy 
of  it  made  for  me ; and  from  that  copy  the 
translation  was  done.  I am  responsible  for 
nothing  beyond  a few  notes  appended  to  the 
text. 

Although  the  beginning  will  probably  prove 
dry  reading,  I presume  to  advise  the  perusal 


268  THE  REBIRTH  OF  KATSUGORO 


of  the  whole  translation  from  first  to  last, 
because  it  suggests  many  things  besides  the 
possibility  of  remembering  former  births.  It 
will  be  found  to  reflect  something  of  the  feu- 
dal Japan  passed  away,  and  something  of  the 
old-time  faith,  — not  the  higher  Buddhism,  but 
what  is  incomparably  more  difficult  for  any 
Occidental  to  obtain  a glimpse  of : the  com- 
mon ideas  of  the  people  concerning  preexist- 
ence and  rebirth.  And  in  view  of  this  fact, 
the  exactness  of  the  official  investigations,  and 
the  credibility  of  the  evidence  accepted,  neces- 
sarily become  questions  of  minor  importance. 

II 

1.  — Copy  of  the  Report  of  Tamon  Dempa- 

CHIRO. 

The  case  of  Katsugoro , nine  years  old , second 
son  of  Genzo,  a farmer  on  my  estate , 
dwelling  in  the  Village  called  Nakano- 
mara  in  the  District  called  Tamagori  in 
the  Province  of  Musashi. 

Some  time  during  the  autumn  of  last  year, 
the  above-mentioned  Katsugoro,  the  son  of 
Genzo,  told  to  his  elder  sister  the  story  of  his 


THE  REBIRTH  OF  KATSUGORO  269 


previous  existence  and  of  liis  rebirth.  But  as 
it  seemed  to  be  only  the  fancy  of  a child,  she 
gave  little  heed  to  it.  Afterwards,  however, 
when  Katsugoro  had  told  her  the  same  story 
over  and  over  again,  she  began  to  think  that 
it  was  a strange  thing,  and  she  told  her  parents 
about  it. 

During  the  twelfth  month  of  the  past  year, 
Genzo  himself  questioned  Katsugoro  about 
the  matter,  whereupon  Katsugoro  declared,  — 

That  he  had  been  in  his  former  existence 
the  son  of  a certain  Kyubei,  a farmer  of 
Hodokubo-mura,  which  is  a village  within  the 
jurisdiction  of  the  Lord  Ivomiya,  in  the  dis- 
trict called  Tamagori,  in  the  province  of 
Musashi ; — 

That  he,  Katsugoro,  the  son  of  Kyubei,  had 
died  of  smallpox  at  the  age  of  six  years,  — 
and 

That  he  had  been  reborn  thereafter  into  the 
family  of  the  Genzo  before-mentioned. 

Though  this  seemed  unbelievable,  the  boy 
repeated  all  the  circumstances  of  liis  story 
with  so  much  exactness  and  apparent  cer- 
tainty, that  the  Headman  and  the  elders  of 
the  village  made  a formal  investigation  of  the 


270  THE  REBIRTH  OF  KATSUGORO 


case.  As  the  news  of  this  event  soon  spread, 
it  was  heard  by  the  family  of  a certain  Han- 
shiro, living  in  the  village  called  Hodokubo- 
mura;  and  Hanshiro  then  came  to  the  house 
of  the  Genzo  aforesaid,  a farmer  belonging  to 
my  estate,  and  found  that  everything  was  true 
which  the  boy  had  said  about  the  personal  ap- 
pearance and  the  facial  characteristics  of  his 
former  parents,  and  about  the  aspect  of  the 
house  which  had  been  his  home  in  his  previous 
birth.  Katsugoro  was  then  taken  to  the  house 
of  Hanshiro  in  Hodokubo-mura ; and  the  peo- 
ple there  said  that  he  looked  very  much  like 
their  Tozo,  who  had  died  a number  of  years 
before,  at  the  age  of  six.  Since  then  the  two 
families  have  been  visiting  each  other  at  inter- 
vals. The  people  of  other  neighboring  vil- 
lages seem  to  have  heard  of  the  matter;  and 
now  persons  come  daily  from  various  places  to 
see  Katsugoro. 

A deposition  regarding  the  above  facts  hav- 
ing been  made  before  me  by  persons  dwelling 
on  my  estate,  I summoned  the  man  Genzo  to 
my  house,  and  there  examined  him.  His  an- 
swers to  my  questions  did  not  contradict  the 


THE  REBIRTH  OF  KATSUGORO  271 


statements  before-mentioned  made  by  other 
parties. 

Occasionally  in  the  world  some  rumor  of 
such  a matter  as  this  spreads  among  the  peo- 
ple. Indeed,  it  is  hard  to  believe  such  things. 
But  I beg  to  make  report  of  the  present  case, 
hoping  the  same  will  reach  your  august  ear,  — 
so  that  I may  not  be  charged  with  negligence. 
[Signed]  Tamon  Dempachiro. 

The  Fourth  Month  and  the  Sixth  Year  of  Bunsei  [1823]. 

2.  — Copy  of  Letter  written  by  Kazttnawo  to 
Teikin,  Priest  of  Sengakuji. 

I have  been  favored  with  the  accompanying 
copy  of  the  report  of  Tamon  Dempachiro  by 
Shiga  Hyoemon  Sama,  who  brought  it  to  me  ; 
and  I take  great  pleasure  in  sending  it  to  you. 
I think  that  it  might  be  well  for  you  to  pre- 
serve it,  together  with  the  writing  from  Kwan- 
zan  Sama,  which  you  kindly  showed  me  the 
other  day. 

[Signed]  Kazunawo. 

The  twenty-first  day  of  the  Sixth  Month.  [No  other  date.] 


272  THE  REBIRTH  OF  KATSUGORO 


3. — Copy  of  the  Letter  of  Matsudaira  Kwan- 
zas [Daimyo]  to  the  Priest  Teiken  of 
the  Temple  called  Sexgakuji. 

I herewith  enclose  and  send  you  the  account 
of  the  rebirth  of  Katsugoro.  I have  written 
it  in  the  popular  style,  thinking  that  it  might 
have  a good  effect  in  hearing  to  silence 
those  who  do  not  believe  in  the  doctrines  of 
the  Buddha.  As  a literary  work  it  is,  of 
course,  a wretched  thing.  I send  it  to  you 
supposing  that  it  could  only  amuse  you  from 
that  point  of  view.  But  as  for  the  relation 
itself,  it  is  without  mistake  ; for  I myself  heard 
it  from  the  grandmother  of  Katsugoro.  When 
you  have  read  it,  please  return  it  to  me. 

[Signed]  Kwanzan. 

Twentieth  day.  [No  date.] 

[Copy.] 

Relation  of  the  Rebirth  of  Katsugoro. 

4.  — ( Introductory  Note  by  the  Priest  Teikin.') 

This  is  the  account  of  a true  fact ; for  it  has 
been  written  hy  Matsudaira  Kwanzan  Sama,  who 
himself  went  [to  Nakano-mura ] on  the  twenty- 
second  day  of  the  third  month  of  this  year  for  the 
special  purpose  of  inquiring  about  the  matter. 


THE  REBIRTH  OF  KATSUGORO  273 


After  having  obtained  a glimpse  of  Katsugoro,  he 
questioned  the  boy’s  grandmother  as  to  every  par- 
ticular ; and  he  wrote  down  her  answers  exactly  as 
they  were  given. 

Afterwards,  the  said  Kwanzan  Sama  conde- 
scended to  honor  this  temple  with  a visit  on  the 
fourteenth  day  of  this  fourth  month,  and  -with  his 
own  august  lips  told  me  about  his  visit  to  the  fam- 
ily of  the  aforesaid  Katsugoro.  Furthermore,  he 
vouchsafed  me  the  favor  of  permitting  me  to  read 
the  before-mentioned  writing,  on  the  twentieth  day 
of  this  same  month.  And,  availing  myself  of  the 
privilege,  I immediately  made  a copy  of  the  writing. 


[Signed] 


Teikin  So 

han,  or  private 
sign-manual, 
made  with  the 
brush. 

The  twenty-first  day  of  the  Fourth  Month  of  the  Sixth  Year 
of  Bunsei  [1823]. 


Sengaku-ji 


[Copy.] 

5.  [N AMES  OF  THE  MEMBERS  OF  THE  TWO  FAM- 

ILIES CONCERNED.] 

[Family  of  Genzo.~\ 

KatsugorO.  — Born  the  10th  day  of  the 
10th  month  of  the  twelfth  year  of  Bunkwa 
[1815].  Nine  years  old  this  sixth  year  of 


274  THE  REBIRTH  OF  KATSUGORO 


Bunsei  [1823]  -1  Second  son  of  Genzo,  a 
farmer  living  in  Tanitsuiri  in  Nakano-mura, 
district  of  Tamagori,  province  of  Musasbi.  — 
Estate  of  Tamon  Dempachiro,  whose  yasliiki 
is  in  the  street  called  Skicliikencko,  Nedzu, 
Yedo.  — Jurisdiction  of  Yusuki. 

Genzo.  — Father  of  Katsugoro.  Family 
name,  Koyada.  Forty-nine  years  old  this 
sixth  year  of  Bunsei.  Being  poor,  he  occu- 
pies himself  with  the  making  of  baskets,  which 
he  sells  in  Yedo.  The  name  of  the  inn  at 
which  he  lodges  while  in  Yedo  is  Sagamiya, 
kept  by  one  Kihei,  in  Bakuro-cko. 

Sei.  — Wife  of  Genzo  and  mother  of  Ka- 
tsugoro. Thirty-nine  years  old  this  sixth  year 
of  Bunsei.  Daughter  of  Murata  Kicliitaro, 
samurai,  — once  an  archer  in  the  service  of 
the  Lord  of  Owari.  When  Sei  was  twelve 
years  old  she  was  a maid-servant,  it  is  said,  in 
the  house  of  Honda  Dainoshin  Dono.  When 
she  was  thirteen  years  old,  her  father,  Kichi- 

1 The  Western  reader  is  requested  to  bear  in  mind  that 
the  year  in  which  a Japanese  child  is  born  is  counted  al- 
ways as  one  year  in  the  reckoning  of  age. 


THE  REBIRTH  OF  KATSUGORO  275 


taro  was  dismissed  forever  for  a certain  cause 
from  the  service  of  the  Lord  of  Owari,  and 
he  became  a ronin.1  He  died  at  the  age  of 
seventy-five,  on  the  twenty-fifth  day  of  the 
fourth  month  of  the  fourth  year  of  Bunkwa 
[1807].  His  grave  is  in  the  cemetery  of  the 
temple  called  Eirin-ji,  of  the  Zen  sect,  in  the 
village  of  Shimo-Yusuki. 

Tsuya.  — Grandmother  of  Katsugoro.  Sev- 
enty-two years  old  this  sixth  year  of  Bunsei. 
When  young  she  served  as  maid  in  the  house- 
hold of  Matsudaira  Oki-no-Kami  Dono  \Dair 
myo\. 

Fusa.  — Elder  sister  of  Katsugoro.  Fif- 
teen years  old  this  year. 

Otojiro.  — Elder  brother  of  Katsugoro. 
Fourteen  years  old  this  year. 

Tsune. — Younger  sister  of  Katsugoro.  Four 
years  old  this  year. 

1 Lit.:  “ A -wave-man,”  — a wandering' samurai  without  a 
lord.  The  ronin  were  generally  a desperate  and  very  dan- 
gerous class ; but  there  were  some  fine  characters  among 
them. 


276  THE  REBIRTH  OF  KATSUGORO 


[Family  of  Hanshiro .] 

Tozo.  — Died  at  the  age  of  six  in  Hodo- 
kubo-mura,  in  the  district  called  Tamagori  in 
the  province  of  Musaslii.  Estate  of  Naltane 
Uyemon,  whose  yashiki  is  in  the  street  Ata- 
rashi-bashi-dori,  Shitaya,  Yedo.  Jurisdiction 
of  Komiya.  — [Tozo]  was  born  in  the  second 
year  of  Bunkwa  [1805],  and  died  at  about  the 
fourth  hour  of  the  day  [10  o'clock  in  the  mor'n- 
ing~\  on  the  fourth  day  of  the  second  month  of 
the  seventh  year  of  Bunkwa  [1810].  The 
sickness  of  which  he  died  was  smallpox.  Bur- 
ied in  the  graveyard  on  the  hill  above  the 
village  before-mentioned,  — Hodokubo-mura. 
— Parochial  temple  : Iwoji  in  Misawa-mura. 
Sect : Zen-shu.  Last  year  the  fifth  year  of 
Bunkwa  [1822],  th ejiu-san  kwaiki 1 was  said 
for  Tozo. 

Hanshiro.  — Stepfather  of  Tozo.  Family 

1 The  Buddhist  services  for  the  dead  are  celebrated  at 
regular  intervals,  increasing  successively  in  length,  until  the 
time  of  one  hundred  years  after  death.  The  jiu-san  kwaiki 
is  the  service  for  the  thirteenth  year  after  death.  By 
“ thirteenth  ” in  the  context  the  reader  must  understand  that 
the  year  in  which  the  death  took  place  is  counted  for  one 
year. 


THE  REBIRTH  OF  KATSUGORO  277 


name : Suzaki.  Fifty  years  old  this  sixth 
year  of  Bunsei. 

Shidzu.  — Mother  of  Tozo.  Forty-nine 
years  old  this  sixth  year  of  Bunsei. 

Kyubei  (afterwards  Togoro).  — Beal  fa- 
ther of  Tozo.  Original  name,  Kyubei,  after- 
wards changed  to  Togoro.  Died  at  the  age  of 
forty-eight,  in  the  sixth  year  of  Bunkwa  [1809], 
when  Toz5  was  five  years  old.  To  replace 
him,  Hanshiro  became  an  iri-muJco.1 

Children  : Two  boys  and  two  girls.  — 
These  are  Hanshiro’s  children  by  the  mother 
of  Tozo. 

6.  — [Copy  of  the  Account  written  in  Pop- 
ular Style  by  Matsudaira  Kwanzan 
Dono,  Daimyo.] 

Some  time  in  the  eleventh  month  of  the  past 
year,  when  Katsugoro  was  playing  in  the  rice- 
field  with  his  elder  sister,  Fusa,  he  asked 
her,  — 

1 The  second  husband,  by  adoption,  of  a daughter  who 
lives  with  her  own  parents. 


278  THE  REBIRTH  OF  KATSUGORO 


“ Elder  Sister,  where  did  you  come  from 
before  you  were  born  into  our  household  ? ” 
Fusa  answered  him  : — 

“How  can  I know  what  happened  to  me 
before  I was  born  ? ” 

Ivatsugoro  looked  surprised  and  exclaimed : 
“ Then  you  cannot  remember  anything  that 
happened  before  you  were  born  ? ” 

“ Do  you  remember  ? ” asked  Fusa. 

“ Indeed  I do,”  replied  Ivatsugoro.  “ I 
used  to  be  the  son  of  Kyubei  San  of  Hodo- 
kubo,  and  my  name  was  then  Tozo  — do  you 
not  know  all  that  ? ” 

“ Ah  ! ” said  Fusa,  “ I shall  tell  father  and 
mother  about  it.” 

But  Ivatsugoro  at  once  began  to  cry,  and 
said : — 

“ Please  do  not  tell ! — it  would  not  be  good 
to  tell  father  and  mother.” 

Fusa  made  answer,  after  a little  while : — 

“ Well,  this  time  I shall  not  tell.  But  the 
next  time  that  you  do  anything  naughty,  then 
I will  tell.” 

After  that  day  whenever  a dispute  arose 
between  the  two,  the  sister  would  threaten  the 
brother,  saying,  “ Very  well,  then  — I shall 


THE  REBIRTH  OF  KATSUGORO  279 


tell  that  thing  to  father  and  mother.”  At 
these  words  the  boy  would  always  yield  to  his 
sister.  This  happened  many  times ; and  the 
parents  one  day  overheard  Fusa  making  her 
threat.  Thinking  Katsugoro  must  have  been 
doing  something  wrong,  they  desired  to  know 
what  the  matter  was,  and  Fusa,  being  ques- 
tioned, told  them  the  truth.  Then  Genzo  and 
his  wife,  and  Tsuya,  the  grandmother  of  Ka- 
tsugoro, thought  it  a very  strange  thing.  They 
called  Katsugoro,  therefore  ; and  tried,  first 
by  coaxing,  and  then  by  threatening,  to  make 
him  tell  what  he  had  meant  by  those  words. 

After  hesitation,  Katsugoro  said  : — “I 
will  tell  you  everything.  I used  to  be  the 
son  of  Kyubei  San  of  Hodokubo,  and  the 
name  of  my  mother  then  was  O-Shidzu  San. 
When  I was  five  years  old,  Kyubei  San  died ; 
and  there  came  in  his  place  a man  called 
Hanshiro  San,  who  loved  me  very  much.  But 
in  the  following  year,  when  I was  six  years 
old,  I died  of  smallpox.  In  the  third  year 
after  that  I entered  mother’s  honorable  womb, 
and  was  born  again.” 

The  parents  and  the  grandmother  of  the 
boy  wondered  greatly  at  hearing  this ; and 


280  THE  REBIRTH  OF  KATSUGORO 


they  decided  to  make  all  possible  inquiry  as 
to  the  man  called  Hanshiro  of  Hodokubo. 
But  as  they  all  had  to  work  very  hard  every 
day  to  earn  a living,  and  so  could  spare  but 
little  time  for  any  other  matter,  they  could  not 
at  once  carry  out  their  intention. 

Now  Sei,  the  mother  of  Katsugoro,  had 
nightly  to  suckle  her  little  daughter  Tsune, 
who  was  four  years  old  ; 1 — and  Katsugoro 
therefore  slept  with  his  grandmother,  Tsuya. 
Sometimes  he  used  to  talk  to  her  in  bed  ; and 
one  night  when  he  was  in  a very  confiding 
mood,  she  persuaded  him  to  tell  her  what  hap- 
pened at  the  time  when  he  had  died.  Then  he 
said  : — “ Until  I was  four  years  old  I used  to 
remember  everything ; but  since  then  I have 
become  more  and  more  forgetful ; and  now  I 
forget  many,  many  tilings.  But  I still  re- 
member that  I died  of  smallpox  ; I remember 
that  I was  put  into  a jar ; 2 I remember  that 

1 Children  in  Japan,  among  the  poorer  classes,  are  not 
weaned  until  an  age  much  later  than  what  is  considered  the 
proper  age  for  weaning  children  in  Western  countries.  But 
“ four  years  old  ” in  this  text  may  mean  considerably  less, 
than  three  by  Western  reckoning. 

2 From  very  ancient  time  in  Japan  it  has  been  the  custom 
to  bury  the  dead  in  large  jars,  — usually  of  red  earthenware, 


THE  REBIRTH  OF  KATSUGORO  281 

I was  buried  on  a bill.  There  was  a hole 
made  in  the  ground;  and  the  people  let  the 
jar  drop  into  that  hole.  It  fell  pan  ! — I re- 
member that  sound  well.  Then  somehow  I 
returned  to  the  house,  and  I stopped  on  my 
own  pillow  there.1  In  a short  time  some  old 
man,  — looking  like  a grandfather  — came 
and  took  me  away.  I do  not  know  who  or 
what  he  was.  As  I walked  I went  through 
empty  air  as  if  flying.  I remember  it  was 
neither  night  nor  day  as  we  went : it  was  al- 
ways like  sunset-time.  I did  not  feel  either 
warm  or  cold  or  hungry.  W e went  very  far, 
I think ; but  still  I could  hear  always,  faintly, 
the  voices  of  people  talking  at  home  ; and  the 
sound  of  the  Ncmhutsu  2 being  said  for  me. 

— called  Kami.  Such  jars  are  still  used,  although  a large 
proportion  of  the  dead  are  buried  in  wooden  coffins  of  a 
form  unknown  in  the  Occident. 

1 The  idea  expressed  is  not  that  of  lying  down  with  the 
pillow  under  the  head,  but  of  hovering  about  the  pillow,  or 
resting  upon  it  as  an  insect  might  do.  The  bodiless  spirit  is 
usually  said  to  rest  upon  tbe  roof  of  the  home.  The  appa- 
rition of  the  aged  man  referred  to  in  the  next  sentence  seems 
a thought  of  Shinto  rather  than  of  Buddhism. 

2 The  repetition  of  the  Buddhist  invocation  Namu  Amida 
Butsu  ! is  thus  named.  The  nembutsu  is  repeated  by  many 
Buddhist  sects  besides  the  sect  of  Amida  proper,  — the 
Shinshu. 


282  THE  REBIRTH  OF  KATSUGORO 


I remember  also  that  when  the  people  at  home 
set  offerings  of  hot  botamochi  1 before  the 
household  shrine  \butsudan~\,  I inhaled  the 
vapor  of  the  offerings.  . . . Grandmother, 
never  forget  to  offer  warm  food  to  the  honor- 
able dead  \Hot6ke  Sama] , and  do  not  forget 
to  give  to  priests  — I am  sure  it  is  very  good 
to  do  these  things.2  . . . After  that,  I only 
remember  that  the  old  man  led  me  by  some 
roundabout  way  to  this  place  — I remember 
we  passed  the  road  beyond  the  village.  Then 
we  came  here,  and  he  pointed  to  this  house, 
and  said  to  me  : — ‘ Now  you  must  be  reborn, 
— for  it  is  three  years  since  you  died.  You 
are  to  be  reboim  in  that  house.  The  person 
who  will  become  your  grandmother  is  very 
kind ; so  it  will  be  well  for  you  to  be  con- 
ceived and  born  there.’  After  saying  this, 
the  old  man  went  away.  I remained  a little 
time  under  the  kaki-tree  before  the  entrance 
of  this  house.  Then  I was  going  to  enter 

1 Botamochi , a kind  of  sugared  rice-cake. 

2 Such  advice  is  a commonplace  in  Japanese  Buddhist  lit- 
erature. By  Hotolci  Sama  here  the  boy  means,  not  the  Bud- 
dhas proper,  but  the  spirits  of  the  dead,  hopefully  termed 
Buddhas  by  those  who  loved  them,  — much  as  in  the  West 
we  sometimes  speak  of  our  dead  as  angels.” 


THE  REBIRTH  OF  KATSUGORO  283 


when  I heard  talking  inside  : some  one  said 
that  because  father  was  now  earning  so  little, 
mother  would  have  to  go  to  service  in  Yedo. 
I thought,  “ I will  not  go  into  that  house  ; ” 
and  I stopped  three  days  in  the  garden.  On 
the  third  day  it  was  decided  that,  after  all, 
mother  would  not  have  to  go  to  Yedo.  The 
same  night  I passed  into  the  house  through  a 
knot-hole  in  the  sliding-shutters  ; — and  after 
that  I stayed  for  three  days  beside  the  Jca- 
mado -1  Then  I entered  mother’s  honorable 

womb.2  ...  I remember  that  I was  born 
without  any  pain  at  all.  — Grandmother,  you 
may  tell  this  to  father  and  mother,  but  please 
never  tell  it  to  anybody  else.” 

The  grandmother  told  Genzo  and  his  wife 
what  Katsugoro  had  related  to  her ; and  after 
that  the  boy  was  not  afraid  to  speak  freely 

1 The  cooking-place  in  a Japanese  kitchen.  Sometimes 
the  word  is  translated  “ kitchen-range,”  but  the  kamado  is 
something  very  different  from  a Western  kitchen-range. 

2 Here  I think  it  better  to  omit  a couple  of  sentences  in 
the  original  rather  too  plain  for  Western  taste,  yet  not  with- 
out interest.  The  meaning  of  the  omitted  passages  is  only 
that  even  in  the  womb  the  child  acted  with  consideration, 
and  according  to  the  rules  of  filial  piety. 


284  THE  REBIRTH  OF  KATSUGORO 


with  liis  parents  on  the  subject  of  his  former 
existence,  and  would  often  say  to  them : “ I 
want  to  go  to  Hodokubo.  Please  let  me 
make  a visit  to  the  tomb  of  Ivyubei  San.” 
Genzo  thought  that  Katsugorb,  being  a strange 
child,  would  probably  die  before  long,  and 
that  it  might  therefore  be  better  to  make  in- 
quiry  at  once  as  to  whether  there  really  was  a 
man  in  Hodokubo  called  Hanshiro.  But  he 
did  not  wish  to  make  the  inquiry  himself,  be- 
cause for  a man  to  do  so  [under  such  circum- 
stancesP]  would  seem  inconsiderate  or  for- 
ward. Therefore,  instead  of  going  himself  to 
Hodokubo,  he  asked  his  mother  Tsuya,  on  the 
twentieth  day  of  the  first  month  of  this  year, 
to  take  her  grandson  there. 

Tsuya  went  with  Katsugoro  to  Hodokubo ; 
and  when  they  entered  the  village  she  poiuted 
to  the  nearer  dwellings,  and  asked  the  boy, 
“ Which  house  is  it  ? — is  it  this  house  or  that 
one  ? ” “ No,”  answered  Katsugoro,  — “ it  is 

further  on  — much  further,”  — and  he  hurried 
before  her.  Reaching  a certain  dwelling  at 
last,  he  cried,  “ This  is  the  house  ! ” — and 
ran  in,  without  waiting  for  his  grandmother. 
Tsuya  followed  him  in,  and  asked  the  people 


THE  REBIRTH  OF  KATSUGORO  285 


there  what  was  the  name  of  the  owner  of  the 
house.  “ Hanshiro,”  one  of  them  answered. 
She  asked  the  name  of  Hanshiro’s  wife. 
“ Sliidzu,”  was  the  reply.  Then  she  asked 
whether  there  had  ever  been  a son  called 
Tozo  born  in  that  house.  “ Yes,”  was  the 
answer ; “ but  that  boy  died  thirteen  years 
ago,  when  he  was  six  years  old.” 

Then  for  the  first  time  Tsuya  was  convinced 
that  Katsugoro  had  spoken  the  truth ; and  she 
could  not  help  shedding  tears.  She  related 
to  the  people  of  the  house  all  that  Katsugoro 
had  told  her  about  his  remembrance  of  his 
former  birth.  Then  Hanshiro  and  his  wife 
wondered  greatly.  They  caressed  Katsugoro 
and  wept ; and  they  remarked  that  he  was 
much  handsomer  now  than  he  had  been  as 
Tozo  before  dying  at  the  age  of  six.  In  the 
mean  time,  Katsugoro  was  looking  all  about ; 
and  seeing  the  roof  of  a tobacco  shop  opposite 
to  the  house  of  Hanshiro,  he  pointed  to  it,  and 
said  : — “ That  used  not  to  be  there.”  And 
he  also  said,  — “ The  tree  yonder  used  not  to 
be  there.”  All  this  was  true.  So  from  the 
minds  of  Hanshiro  and  his  wife  every  doubt 
departed  \_rja  ico  orishi ]. 


286  THE  REBIRTH  OF  KATSUGORO 


On  the  same  day  Tsuya  and  Katsugoro 
returned  to  Tanitsniri,  Nakano-mura.  After- 
wards Genz5  sent  his  son  several  times  to 
Hanshiro’s  house,  and  allowed  him  to  visit  the 
tomb  of  Kyubei  his  real  father  in  his  previous 
existence. 

Sometimes  Katsugoro  says : — “I  am  a 
Nono-Sama : 1 therefore  please  be  kind  to 
me.”  Sometimes  he  also  says  to  his  grand- 
mother : — “I  think  I shall  die  when  I am 
sixteen  ; but,  as  Ontake  Sama  2 has  taught  us, 

1 Nono-San  (or  Sama)  is  the  child-word  for  the  Spirits 
of  the  dead,  for  the  Buddhas,  and  for  the  Shint5  Gods,  — 
Kami.  Nono-San  wo  ogamu,  — “to  pray  to  the  Nono-San,” 
is  the  child-phrase  for  praying’  to  the  gods.  The  spirits  of 
the  ancestors  become  Nono-San,  — Kami , — according  to 
Shinto  thought. 

2 The  reference  here  to  Ontake  Sama  has  a particular 
interest,  but  will  need  some  considerable  explanation. 

Ontake,  or  Mitak^,  is  the  name  of  a celebrated  holy  peak 
in  the  province  of  Shinano  — a great  resort  for  pilgrims. 
During  the  Tokugawa  Shogunate,  a priest  called  Issliin,  of 
the  Risshu  Buddhists,  made  a pilgrimage  to  that  moun- 
tain. Returning  to  his  native  place  (Sakamoto-cho,  Shitaya, 
Yedo),  he  began  to  preach  certain  new  doctrines,  and  to 
make  for  himself  a reputation  as  a miracle-worker,  by 
virtue  of  powers  said  to  have  been  gained  during  his  pil- 
grimage to  Ontake.  The  Shogunate  considered  him  a dan- 
gerous person,  and  banished  him  to  the  island  of  Hachijo, 


THE  REBIRTH  OF  KATSUGORO  287 


dying  is  not  a matter  to  be  afraid  of.”  When 
liis  parents  ask  liim,  “ W ould  you  not  like 
to  become  a priest  ? ” he  answers,  “ I would 
rather  not  be  a priest.” 

where  he  remained  for  some  years.  Afterwards  he  was  al- 
lowed to  return  to  Yedo,  and  there  to  preach  his  new  faith, 
— to  which  he  gave  the  name  of  Azuma-Kyo.  It  was  Bud- 
dhist teaching  in  a Shinto  disguise,  — the  deities  especially 
adored  hy  its  followers  being  Okuni-nushi  and  Sukuna-hi- 
kona  as  Buddhist  avatars.  In  the  prayer  of  the  sect  called 
Kaibyaku-Norito  it  is  said  : — “ The  divine  nature  is  im- 
movable (fudo) ; yet  it  moves.  It  is  formless,  yet  mani- 
fests itself  in  forms.  This  is  the  Incomprehensible  Divine 
Body.  In  Heaven  and  Earth  it  is  called  Kami ; in  all 
things  it  is  called  Spirit ; in  Man  it  is  called  Mind.  . . . 
From  this  only  reality  came  the  heavens,  the  four  oceans, 
the  great  whole  of  the  three  thousand  universes  ; — from  the 
One  Mind  emanate  three  thousands  of  great  thousands  of 
forms.”  . . . 

In  the  eleventh  year  of  Bunkwa  ( 1814)  a man  called  Shi- 
moyama  Osuk4,  originally  an  oil-merchant  in  Heiyemon- 
cho,  Asakusa,  Yedo,  organized,  on  the  basis  of  Isshin’s 
teaching,  a religious  association  named  Tomoy4-Ko.  It 
flourished  until  the  overthrow  of  the  Shogunat.e,  when  a 
law  was  issued  forbidding  the  teaching  of  mixed  doctrines, 
and  the  blending  of  Shint5  with  Buddhist  religion.  Shimo- 
yama  Osuk<5  then  applied  for  permission  to  establish  a new 
Shinto  sect,  under  the  name  of  Mitak4-Kyo,  — popularly 
called  0ntak<5-Kyo  ; and  the  permission  was  given  in  the 
sixth  year  of  Meiji  [1873].  0suk4  then  remodeled  the 
Buddhist  sutra  Fudo  Kyo  into  a Shinto  prayer-book,  under 


288  THE  REBIRTH  OF  KATSUGORO 


The  village  people  do  not  call  him  Katsu- 
gorb  any  more ; they  have  nicknamed  him 
“ Hodokubo-Kozb  ” (the  Acolyte  of  Hodo- 
kubo).1  When  any  one  visits  the  house  to 
see  him,  he  becomes  shy  at  once,  and  runs  to 
hide  himself  in  the  inner  apartments.  So  it 
is  not  possible  to  have  any  direct  conversation 
with  him.  I have  written  down  this  account 
exactly  as  his  grandmother  gave  it  to  me. 

I asked  whether  Genzo,  his  wdfe,  or  Tsuya, 
could  any  of  them  remember  having  done  any 

the  title,  Shintb-Fudo-Norito.  The  sect  still  flourishes;  and 
one  of  its  chief  temples  is  situated  about  a mile  from  my 
present  residence  in  Tokyo. 

“Ontak^  San”  (or  ‘‘Sama”)  is  a popular  name  given 
to  the  deities  adored  by  this  sect.  It  really  means  the 
Deity  dwelling  on  the  peak  Mitakd,  or  Ontak£.  But  the 
name  is  also  sometimes  applied  to  the  high-priest  of  the 
sect,  who  is  supposed  to  be  oracularly  inspired  by  the  deity 
of  Ontak^.  and  to  make  revelations  of  truth  through  the 
power  of  the  divinity.  In  the  month  of  the  boy  Katsugoro 
“ Ontakd  Sama  ” means  the  high-priest  of  that  time 
[1823],  almost  certainly  Osukd  himself,  — then  chief  of  the 
Tomovb-Kyo. 

1 Kozo  is  the  name  given  to  a Buddhist  acolyte,  or  a 
youth  studying  for  the  priesthood.  But  it  is  also  given  to 
errand-boys  and  little  boy-servants  sometimes,  — perhaps 
because  in  former  days  the  heads  of  little  boys  were  shaved. 
I think  that  the  meaning  in  this  text  is  “ acolyte.” 


THE  REBIRTH  OF  KATSUGORO  289 

virtuous  deeds.  Genzo  and  his  wife  said  that 
they  had  never  done  anything  especially  vir- 
tuous; but  that  Tsuya,  the  grandmother,  had 
always  been  in  the  habit  of  repeating  the  Nem- 
butsu  every  morning  and  evening,  and  that 
she  never  failed  to  give  two  mon 1 to  any 
priest  or  pilgrim  who  came  to  the  door.  But 
excepting  these  small  matters,  she  never  had 
done  anything  which  could  be  called  a par- 
ticularly virtuous  act. 

( — This  is  the  End  of  the  Relation  of  the  Re- 
birth of  Katsugord.) 

7.  — (Note  by  the  Translator.) 

The  foregoing  is  taken  from  a manuscript 
entitled  Chin  Setsu  Shu  Ki ; or,  “ Manu- 
script-Collection of  Uncommon  Stories,”  — 
made  between  the  fourth  month  of  the  sixth 
year  of  Bunsei  and  the  tenth  month  of  the 
sixth  year  of  Tempo  [1823-1835].  At  the 
end  of  the  manuscript  is  written,  — “ From 
the  years  of  Bunsei  to  the  years  of  Tempo.  — 
Minamisempa,  Owner:  Kurumacho,  Shiba, 

1 In  that  time  the  name  of  the  smallest  of  coins  = of 
1 cent.  It  was  about  the  same  as  that  now  called  rin,  a 
copper  with  a square  hole  in  the  middle  and  bearing-  Chi- 
nese characters. 


290  THE  REBIRTH  OF  KATSUGORO 


Yedo .”  Under  this,  again,  is  the  following 
note:  — “ Bought  from  Yamatoya  Sakujird 
Nishinokubo : twenty-first  day  [?] , Second 
Year  of  Meiji  [1869].”  From  which  it  would 
appear  that  the  manuscript  had  been  written 
by  Minamisempa,  who  collected  stories  told 
to  him,  or  copied  them  from  manuscripts  ob- 
tained by  him,  during  the  thirteen  years  from 
1823  to  1835,  inclusive. 

in 

Perhaps  somebody  will  now  be  unreason- 
able enough  to  ask  whether  I believe  this  story, 
— as  if  my  belief  or  disbelief  had  anything  to 
do  with  the  matter  ! The  question  of  the  pos- 
sibility of  remembering  former  births  seems 
to  me  to  depend  upon  the  question  what  it  is 
that  remembers.  If  it  is  the  Infinite  All-Self 
in  each  one  of  us,  then  I can  believe  the  whole 
of  the  Jatakas  without  any  trouble.  As  to 
the  False  Self,  the  mere  woof  and  warp  of  sen- 
sation and  desire,  then  I can  best  express  my 
idea  by  relating  a dream  which  I once  dreamed. 
Whether  it  was  a dream  of  the  night  or  a 
dream  of  the  day  need  not  concern  any  one, 
•—  since  it  was  only  a dream. 


XI 


WITHIN  THE  CIRCLE 

Neither  personal  pain  nor  personal  pleas- 
ure can  be  really  expressed  in  words.  It  is 
never  possible  to  communicate  them  in  tbeir 
original  form.  It  is  only  possible,  by  vivid 
portrayal  of  the  circumstances  or  conditions 
causing  them,  to  awaken  in  sympathetic  minds 
some  kindred  qualities  of  feeling.  But  if  the 
circumstances  causing  the  pain  or  the  pleasure 
be  totally  foreign  to  common  human  experi- 
ence, then  no  representation  of  them  can  make 
fully  known  the  sensations  which  they  evoked. 
Hopeless,  therefore,  any  attempt  to  tell  the 
real  pain  of  seeing  my  former  births.  I can 
say  only  that  no  combination  of  suffering  pos- 
sible to  individual  being  could  be  likened  to 
such  pain,  — the  pain  of  countless  lives  inter- 
woven. It  seemed  as  if  every  nerve  of  me 
had  been  prolonged  into  some  monstrous  web 
of  sentiency  spun  back  through  a million 


292 


WITHIN  THE  CIRCLE 


years,  — and  as  if  tlie  whole  of  that  measure- 
less woof  and  warp,  over  all  its  shivering 
threads,  were  pouring  into  my  consciousness, 
out  of  the  abysmal  past,  some  ghastliness  with- 
out name,  — some  horror  too  vast  for  human 
brain  to  hold.  For,  as  I looked  backward,  I 
became  double,  quadruple,  octuple ; — I multi- 
plied by  arithmetical  progression ; — I became 
hundreds  and  thousands,  — and  feared  with 
the  terror  of  thousands,  — and  despaired  with 
the  anguish  of  thousands,  — and  shuddered 
with  the  agony  of  thousands  ; yet  knew  the 
pleasure  of  none.  All  joys,  all  delights  ap- 
peared but  mists  or  mockeries : only  the  pain 
and  the  fear  were  real,  — and  always,  always 
growing.  Then  in  the  moment  when  sentiency 
itself  seemed  bursting  into  dissolution,  one 
divine  touch  ended  the  frightful  vision,  and 
brought  again  to  me  the  simple  consciousness 
of  the  single  present.  Oh ! how  unspeakably 
delicious  that  sudden  shrinking  back  out  of 
multiplicity  into  unity ! — that  immense,  im- 
measurable collapse  of  Self  into  the  blind 
oblivious  numbness  of  individuality! 

“ To  others  also,”  said  the  voice  of  the  divine 


WITHIN  THE  CIRCLE 


293 


one  who  had  thus  saved  me,  — “ to  others  in 
the  like  state  it  has  been  permitted  to  see 
something  of  their  preexistence.  But  no  one 
of  them  ever  could  endure  to  look  far.  Power 
to  see  all  former  births  belongs  only  to  those 
eternally  released  from  the  bonds  of  Self.  Such 
exist  outside  of  illusion,  — outside  of  form  and 
name ; and  pain  cannot  come  nigh  them. 

“ But  to  you,  remaining  in  illusion,  not  even 
the  Buddha  could  give  power  to  look  hack 
more  than  a little  way. 

“ Still  you  are  bewitched  by  the  follies  of 
art  and  of  poetry  and  of  music,  — the  delu- 
sions of  color  and  form,  — the  delusions  of 
sensuous  speech,  the  delusions  of  sensuous 
sound. 

“ Still  that  apparition  called  Nature  — which 
is  but  another  name  for  emptiness  and  shadow 
— deceives  and  charms  you,  and  fills  you  with 
dreams  of  longing  for  the  things  of  sense. 

“ But  he  who  truly  wishes  to  know,  must  not 
love  this  phantom  Nature,  — must  not  find  de- 
light in  the  radiance  of  a clear  sky,  — nor  in 
the  sight  of  the  sea,  — nor  in  the  sound  of  the 
flowing  of  rivers,  — nor  in  the  forms  of  peaks 
and  woods  and  valleys,  — nor  in  the  colors  of 
them. 


294 


WITHIN  THE  CIRCLE 


“ He  who  truly  wishes  to  know  must  not 
find  delight  in  contemplating  the  works  and 
the  deeds  of  men,  nor  in  hearing  their  con- 
verse, nor  in  observing  the  puppet-play  of 
their  passions  and  of  their  emotions.  All 
this  is  but  a weaving  of  smoke,  — a shimmer- 
ing of  vapors,  — an  impermanency,  — a phan- 
tasmagory. 

“ For  the  pleasures  that  men  term  lofty  or 
noble  or  sublime  are  but  larger  sensualisms, 
subtler  falsities : venomous  fair-seeming  flow- 
erings of  selfishness,  — all  rooted  in  the  elder 
slime  of  appetites  and  desires.  To  joy  in 
the  radiance  of  a cloudless  day,  — to  see  the 
mountains  shift  their  tintings  to  the  wheeling 
of  the  sun,  — to  watch  the  passing  of  waves, 
the  fading  of  sunsets,  — to  find  charm  in  the 
blossoming  of  plants  or  trees : all  this  is  of 
the  senses.  Not  less  truly  of  the  senses  is  the 
pleasure  of  observing  actions  called  great  or 
beautiful  or  heroic,  — since  it  is  one  with 
the  pleasure  of  imagining  those  things  for 
which  men  miserably  strive  in  this  miserable 
world : brief  love  and  fame  and  honor,  — all 
of  which  are  empty  as  passing  foam. 

“ Sky,  sun,  and  sea ; — the  peaks,  the 


WITHIN  THE  CIRCLE 


295 


woods,  the  plains  ; — all  splendors  and  forms 
and  colors,  — are  spectres.  The  feelings  and 
the  thoughts  and  the  acts  of  men,  — whether 
deemed  high  or  low,  noble  or  ignoble,  — all 
things  imagined  or  done  for  any  save  the 
eternal  purpose,  are  but  dreams  born  of 
dreams  and  begetting  hollowness.  To  the 
clear  of  sight,  all  feelings  of  self,  — all  love 
and  hate,  joy  and  pain,  hope  and  regret,  are 
alike  shadows  ; — youth  and  age,  beauty  and 
horror,  sweetness  and  foulness,  are  not  differ- 
ent ; — death  and  life  are  one  and  the  same ; 
and  Space  and  Time  exist  but  as  the  stage 
and  the  order  of  the  perpetual  Shadow-play. 

“ All  that  exists  in  Time  must  perish.  To 
the  Awakened  there  is  no  Time  or  Space  or 
Change,  — no  night  or  day,  — no  heat  or 
cold,  — no  moon  or  season,  — no  present,  past, 
or  future.  Form  and  the  names  of  form  are 
alike  nothingness  : — Knowledge  only  is  real ; 
and  unto  whomsoever  gains  it,  the  universe 
becomes  a ghost.  But  it  is  written  : — ‘ He 
who  hath  overcome  Time  in  the  past  and  the 
future  must  he  of  exceedingly  pure  under- 
standing.'’ 

“ Such  understanding  is  not  yours.  Still 


296 


WITHIN  THE  CIRCLE 


to  your  eyes  the  shadow  seems  the  substance, 

— and  darkness,  light,  — and  voidness,  beauty. 
And  therefore  to  see  your  former  births  could 
give  you  only  pain.” 

I asked : — 

“ Had  I found  strength  to  look  back  to  the 
beginning,  — back  to  the  verge  of  Time,  — 
could  I have  read  the  Secret  of  the  uni- 
verse ? ” 

“ Nay,”  was  answer  made.  “ Only  by  In- 
finite Vision  can  the  Secret  be  read.  Could 
you  have  looked  back  incomparably  further 
than  your  power  permitted,  then  the  Past 
would  have  become  for  you  the  Future.  And 
could  you  have  endured  even  yet  more,  the 
Future  would  have  orbed  back  for  you  into 
the  Present.” 

“ Yet  why  ? ” I murmured,  marveling. 
. . . “ What  is  the  Circle  ? ” 

“ Circle  there  is  none,”  was  the  response ; 

— “ Circle  there  is  none  but  the  great  phan- 
tom-whirl of  birth  and  death  to  which,  by 
their  own  thoughts  and  deeds,  the  ignorant 
remain  condemned.  But  this  has  being  only 
in  Time ; and  Time  itself  is  illusion.” 


Cfie  fiitoersibe  |0r eg# 

CAMBRIDGE,  MASSACHUSETTS,  U.  S.  A, 
ELECTROTYPED  AND  PRINTED  BY 
H.  O.  HOUGHTON  AND  CO. 


Date  Due 


